


The Unravelling

by Antecanis



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25246984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antecanis/pseuds/Antecanis
Summary: Grand Master Haytham Kenway has been captured by the Assassins - none other than his estranged son, Connor, has brought him in. Through a modified Animus, the Creed seeks to find clues about the Apple of Eden that is in his possession, and of course, Connor is the only one who can unlock his father's memories. But living through fragments of Haytham's past, Connor starts to find himself doubting all he has believed to be true about Haytham...
Relationships: Haytham Kenway/Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor
Comments: 50
Kudos: 86





	1. A Monster in the Making

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this for a long time! It's a lot of my headcanons about Haytham's (modern) upbringing and life. I've always wished Connor had known more about his father's story, because I'm sure they would have been able to find a way working together... 
> 
> As a more general note, I want to underline that there is a long scene dealing with non-con in Chapter 4. The act in itself is not described explicitly, and it's not between Connor and Haytham. But please stay safe with content like that.

**2019 - Unknown Location**

Haytham slowly surfaced from the drug-induced unconsciousness. He remembered what had happened even before he opened his eyes. Connor had asked him for a meeting. It wasn’t the first time they had met, and the Grand Master had been careful – after all, his wayward son was an Assassin, and despite a tentative truce, he had never fully trusted him. With good reason, as it turned out – after a brief scuffle, Connor had shot him with a tranquilizer gun. And now, he was here – wherever that was.

The Grand Master remained calm; keeping his eyes closed, his breath regular, and listening to his surroundings. If they had wanted to kill him, they would have done it already. No; they were after information, and he reckoned it had something to do with the Piece of Eden that was in his possession and in a place they could not find. He could tell that he was restrained in some way; lying on his back and being held in a large, cold room.

“- it works similar do the original, but since we have a living… source for the memories, it will be more chaotic. We've never done this before. Since what we need is in the recent past, we can’t just use your DNA.”

Haytham didn’t recognize the voice, but he was starting to have an idea as to what they had in mind. They probably knew that he would not give them any information willingly – no matter what. The voices were a bit muffled, but he could understand them fairly well. It sounded as if they were in an adjacent hallway of sorts; readying themselves for what they were planning on doing.

“I understand.” That was Connor’s voice – quiet, yet determined.

“We won’t see what you see – and we won’t be able to switch or guide the memories effectively. We can subdue or stimulate him, but in the end, this is about patience. If we jump around too much, the connection will break down. We just have to keep trying until we find what we need.”

“I’m ready.”

“Good – you are the only one who can do this. Try to keep everything you see in mind as we can’t record it. Whatever you find – it might be important. Maybe it’s something we can use to get him to talk. Whatever you learn – it’s to our advantage. We can still stop him, Connor, and you’re our best shot.”

“I got this.”

“Just remember… you’re living through his memories. Remember the bleeding effect. Don’t get caught up in whatever you see through his eyes – you know what he’s capable of, and what he has become. You know he needs to be stopped.”

Haytham did his best to remain still – he understood now in which way he was restrained. He knew this tech – after all, this was an Abstergo product. This was what his own company produced; he had been CEO of Abstergo Industries for almost two decades now. This specific modification of the Animus, however, was rather impressive – if, indeed, it worked. Not that he would, in any way, help to make it happen. According to what he had overheard, the Assassins had no way of _picking_ or recording the memories, and so he just needed to do his best and stall them as long as he could. Doubtlessly, his men were looking for him, and it couldn’t be long until they found wherever the Assassins were keeping him. And even if they managed to gather some sort of information about the Apple’s whereabouts – they could not easily get to it without him. Time was on his side - but the prospect of Connor rummaging through his memories was not pleasant in the slightest regardless.

There was shuffling and multiple people entered the room.

“Is he still not back?”, a third, unknown voice sounded; closer now, and clearly annoyed. The man was speaking in a thick accent, which Haytham would say sounded French. “Well there are ways –”

“No, he’s awake.”, Connor said quietly.

Haytham opened his eyes and found himself in some sort of underground chamber; the stone-built arches were mossy and worn. Classic Assassin hideout, he thought to himself and did his best not to roll his eyes. He glanced over to Connor, who stood next to a man closer to Haytham’s age than Connor’s. It took the Grand Master a moment, but then he recognized him from the files they had on him – he was a Frenchman known as Chevalier. Haytham also remembered that Shay had some personal history with him, but the CEO himself had not yet met the other. The third person, who had talked to Connor earlier, was a bit further away and also known to Haytham – he was Shay’s brother in all but blood, Liam O’Brien.

The Grand Master arched an eyebrow at them but did not care to say anything. They would do what they chose, and he would try to defy them.

Connor briefly met his glance but then averted his eyes; his expression determined. “Let’s get this over with.”, he muttered, and the three of them got into position. Haytham couldn’t see all of them, but he did his best to keep track of where they went and how far away they possibly were. From the corner of his eyes, he could see how Connor laid down in the counterpart of Haytham’s device – it looked less like an Animus than what Haytham suspected _he_ was trapped in.

Someone behind him – Liam, perhaps – put a device over Haytham’s head, and the Grand Master took a few steadying breaths. They couldn’t navigate the memories. Maybe _he_ could. Think about anything but…

**1981 - Birch Estate, Northern England**

Haytham blinked.

He was ten years old, waiting in the hallway leading to Mr Reginald Birch’s office. Birch’s estate was a day’s trip away from London, and Haytham was not entirely sure why he was here. After his father’s murder, his family had… shattered. Birch had been there just hours after the attack – talking to the police, and to Haytham’s mother. Haytham had wanted to stay with his mother and half-sister, but for some reason or another, he had been brought to a hotel room, where he had stayed for a few days by himself. He had asked where the rest of his family was, but the guards by the door had told him to be patient and that he would be able to see them soon.

But now he was here – and there was no sign of Jenny or his mother. Staring down at his hands, he still expected blood on them. His father’s blood – or the assailant’s blood, perhaps; the first person he had ever killed. He did his best not to fidget – his father had taught him other techniques to stay calm and collected, and the boy did some breathing exercises as he waited for something to happen.

The hallway was filled with antique weaponry and armour; some known to Haytham, others not. His father had taught him how to fight, and he had taken up several after-school courses; he could fence, handle a gun, fight with a knife, he knew self-defence, boxing, and a bit of martial arts – but he had just started Thai kickboxing and wasn’t very far into the programme.

His thoughts were disrupted as the door next to him opened, and Reginald Birch himself appeared. “Come in.”

Haytham entered the other’s study; carefully glancing around. There were many more pieces of old armour and weaponry around; some odd things in display cases, and a few oil paintings adorning the walls – depicting battle scenes, mainly, though there were two portraits that probably belonged to Birch’s family history. A large desk with a sword on it dominated the room; the stained glass windows mainly covered by thick, velvet curtains.

Birch gestured for him to take a seat in front of the desk, and Haytham did; doing his best to appear calm and collected, though he was still confused as to what he was doing here. “Sir, why am I -?”, he started, but Birch slammed his hand on the massive wooden table and Haytham fell quiet again.

The older man gave a sigh and sat down. “Speak when you are _asked_ to.”, he chided. “That’s the first rule in my house that I expect you to follow.”

Haytham furrowed his brows. Why would he follow Mr Birch’s rules? He wanted to ask where his family was, but remained quiet. His heart ached – he just really wanted to see his Mom and sister. Hopefully they would pick him up soon, and they could leave this place. He had cried so much in the past days, and yearned for a comforting word - not whatever this was all about.

“Your mother agreed that I will be much more capable of handling your education from here on.”, Birch stated calmly.

Haytham jerked. “What? But –”

The hand slammed on the table again, and Haytham startled.

“Do _not_ interrupt me again, boy.”

Haytham stared at the other with wide eyes; fighting the anger, hurt and confusion bubbling up in him. Why would his mother…?

Birch shook his head. “The truth is, Haytham, they think you are a monster in the making.”

The boy managed to keep quiet, even though many questions danced on the tip of his tongue. That wasn’t true… was it? But… he remembered his mother’s expression so very well… staring at him; staring at the blood and the bodies on the floor… But… that man; he had killed Edward and attacked Tess…

“But in _my_ opinion, a ten-year-old who can shoot an assailant in the head on such a distance – that’s not monstrous. That’s _potential._ A potential for greatness.” Birch leaned forwards, and his expression was milder now. “Your father saw the same potential, did he not?”

For a brief moment, Haytham wondered if this was a question he was supposed to answer, but then Birch continued to speak.

“I will oversee your training. I will sacrifice my money, my time, and my energy for you, and I expect gratitude. I will make you great, Haytham – the greatest of my pupils. I will treat you like my own boy, and in return, I demand your obedience, your loyalty and your absolute dedication. Is that clear?”

For a brief moment, Haytham hesitated, but it seemed as if he was allowed to speak. “Can I see my mother?”, he asked carefully.

Birch’s expression dropped – he seemed annoyed, and got out of the chair; starting to pace around the room. “Have you not listened, boy? Your mother does not wish to see you. She is rather _terrified_ of you, and your sister is, too. They think – you could have protected them. Your father, too. But you were not good enough. You murdered a man in cold blood only after he had killed your father.”

Haytham tried his best to swallow down tears – he would see them again, wouldn’t he? Even if his mother made him stay here for a while… she would visit, wouldn’t she? She still loved him, right? He had just lost his father, he couldn’t lose them, too… Was Birch right, and he could have saved his father, if only he had been… quicker?

“You have to know – your father was a member of a secret organization; and I am, too.”, Birch said as he approached the boy. “I will make you a member like he was. You will follow in his footsteps. You have failed him once, but you can make this right again, Haytham. I will make you a leader, just as your father wanted. It was the path he set you on, and I will simply continue for him.” He placed a hand on Haytham’s shoulder, and the boy stiffened. Leaning down, Birch said close to his ear, “From now on, you will do as I say, Haytham. I see your potential, even more so than my dear friend; your father. I know that he had enrolled you in several sports and fighting programmes. I saw some of your competitions – very impressive for your age.”

Haytham nodded vaguely; a lump in his throat preventing him from blurting out anything this time. He remembered Mr Birch from the past couple of years - though his father had not always spoken kindly of him.

“But it wasn’t enough. You know it wasn’t. Your father’s blood is on your hands because you have not yet reached your potential. You will only _truly_ excel if you receive a proper education. Which I will make possible. You will have training every day from now on. You cannot be lazy; not when we have lost so many years already. We will start tomorrow. You will have five hours of physical training each day, starting at 7am sharp. In the afternoon, you will have private classes.” His grip on Haytham’s shoulder tightened. “I expect you to go to Oxford when you are turning eighteen, finish your degree before your twenty-second birthday; then have your PhD before you are twenty-nine. You will study corporate law, with a minor in computer sciences. Your PhD will be on virtual realities – I reckon you do not know much about it, _yet_.”

The other’s voice had grown almost… excited, and Haytham did his best to concentrate on his breath. It slowly dawned on him that Reginald Birch had plans for him – plans that had no room for his own wishes. But what choice did he have? If even his own mother thought of him as a monster… Maybe she wasn’t wrong. He had failed to protect his father. Maybe he could make it up by following in his father’s footsteps like Birch promised. Maybe he could make Edward proud, even if the other wasn’t around to witness it, and maybe his mother would forgive him if he would become… better.

Birch’s hand brushed along his neck. “Have you understood now, Haytham?”

“Yes, Sir.”, he brought out; determined not to cry in front of the other, though his heart was breaking at the notion that he had not only lost his father, but his whole family; his whole life.

_“Liam. Liam – can you get me out? I… I need a break.”_

It was a strange voice in the back of his head, and Haytham flinched. It was a reminder that he was not reliving these memories by himself, but…

**2019  
**

Haytham couldn’t hear Liam’s answer – if there had been one – but something changed. The images fragmented and after a brief, odd, flicker of void around him, Haytham found himself back in the Assassin’s hideout. He took a quiet, deep breath. He hadn’t guided that memory – and in a way, he disliked the notion of Connor having seen such a… pivotal moment. But at least it hadn’t given them any of the clues they were looking for.

“Did you find anything useful?” Chevalier sounded impatient – perhaps he was expecting to dash off and find the Apple already.

“I…” Connor’s voice was less focused than before, and if anything, he sounded exhausted. “It’s so… It’s really as if I’m _living_ it. But… I can’t control what’s happening.”

Haytham could see from the corner of his eye how Connor get up; stretching a little and glancing over to him.

“It was a… a childhood memory. Liam – didn’t you say my grandfather was an Assassin?”

“Yes, why? Did you meet him?”

“No… but… there was a… someone named Birch, and he said Haytham’s father was a Templar.”

Haytham snorted. For so many years he had believed that to be true… But Birch had paid for what he had done – many years later. Only after he had ruined many more lives.

Liam gestured for Connor to come with him. “Let’s talk about this elsewhere. You can write down what you remember, and we’ll see what of it will be of use.”

Once the two of them had left the room, Chevalier came over. He leaned over Haytham and studied him for a moment as if he was looking at a wild animal at the zoo; trapped.

“First, we will break you. Then, we will find the Apple and destroy your company and your Order.”, he said; his voice pleased. “Is it not ironic that you betrayed what your father stood for, and now your own son will be the one to kill you?” He snorted. “And one day, I will get that Irish traitor, too. I heard you’re fond of him – maybe you’re still alive when I kill him. I will bring you his head.”

Haytham just an arched an eyebrow at that. “There’s nothing you can do to break me. Even if you kill me – my Order will rise again. It is born out of a realization, it needs no Creed. It doesn't need me to survive. I further have no doubt that Shay will kill you on sight.”

Chevalier grimaced; a distorted smile on his lips. “Arrogant bastard. Let’s see how haughty you are when –“

“Chevalier!” Connor appeared in the doorframe of the underground room as if he had overheard them from the hallway; his expression stony. “Achilles wants you upstairs.”

The Frenchman glared at Haytham with a twisted smile still on his lips. “Catch you later, Haytham.”

Haytham briefly made eye contact with Connor before they left him. For some reason, the young Assassin had looked… upset.

The Grand Master carefully tested out the strength of his restraints once he was alone again. He had lied. There was much in his past that could break him – and much that he did not want Connor to see and report to his superiors.


	2. William Fucking Wordsworth

**2019 – Unknown Location**

The second session took place only a short while later, and much earlier than Haytham had anticipated. He had tested the strength of his restraints, and gotten a picture of the room as much as he could – there seemed to be one entrance, no windows or other openings, though he couldn’t be entirely sure as his view from the Animus was limited. There were no sounds from the surroundings of the building – indicating that they were neither in a city, nor close to any major traffic. Occasionally, he could hear distant voices – belonging most likely to the Assassins working upstairs.

Connor and Liam returned after a little while – wordlessly getting back into their positions. No one asked or said anything. In a way, Haytham was displeased by that; interviewing him would waste their time – which would give his men more opportunity to find him before they could get any information of value. Not that his childhood memories would provide anything useful to them, surely. However… Haytham hoped that his teenage years would be skipped generously. He did not want to relive certain memories from those years; and certainly not with Connor on his back…

**1986 – Birch Estate, Northern England**

The lights went on, and an alarm blared briefly.

It was 5am, and time for Haytham to get up. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe today would be better – it was the first week back after his training at summer camp, and hopefully he was allowed to get back into his old routines. With a degree of hurry, he flung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretched, and then got up.

His room was located in the underground bunker of Birch’s estate. It had only been finished a year ago, and was as modern as it could be. Haytham’s room was a small cell with little more than a bed, a desk and a chair, a wardrobe, a sink and a toilet. A large one-way mirror covered most of one of the walls, and Haytham knew that at least for some portion of the time he spent here, someone was watching over him, though he could never be entirely sure.

He got dressed quickly. It was time for his morning run – his favourite part of his daily routine because he did it by himself.

A light rain was falling as he walked past security and headed outside. It was still dark, though there was a hint of light on the horizon. Birch’s estate was bordering on the Western coast, and Haytham enjoyed the sound of the waves breaking against the cliff as he stopped to stretch.

His morning run took him along the Eastern edge of the vast estate. It was secured by a concrete wall and barbd wire in most areas, but there was a part of the path that bordered on a thick forest, where only an old stone wall delineated Birch’s property. Haytham slowed down as he approached this part of the path; his heart speeding up a little. If he was lucky…

A whistle confirmed his hope, and he grinned as he came to a halt. He whistled back.

James Holden, seventeen years old and living in a neighbouring village, appeared. “Was wonderin’ when you’d be back, Haytham.”

Instead of a verbal greeting, Haytham just flung his arms around his friend and hugged him. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the moment of closeness – the feeling of a gentle touch and an affectionate embrace. He had missed this.

As they parted, Haytham shook his head, but a small smile was still on his lips. “Don’t tell me you’ve been waiting here every morning, Jim.”

James shrugged. “I just watch telly ‘til 3, and then I take a stroll. No bother, really.”

Haytham beamed, and they started walking together.

“How was camp?”, James asked, holding out his hand.

Taking the offered hand, Haytham felt himself relax. Being with James always gave him hope. “It was alright. A month without him is always good, right?” He sighed. “And it’s nice hanging out with more people my age...”

James gave an undiscernible hum, then stopped; his eyes resting on Haytham. He reached out with his free hand and brushed along the other boy’s cheek where a prominent bruise accompanied a split lip. “Care to tell me 'bout this one?”

It was Haytham’s turn to shrug, and he motioned for them to keep walking. “Didn’t happen at camp. Though I almost broke my leg. _Almost.”_ He noticed James’ concerned glance and shook his head. “Eh, story for a different day. No, this one’s… You know, I’ve been back for four days now, but… he’s just not in a good mood. I don’t know why. Doesn’t matter what I do, I just keep pissing him off, and he keeps changing my schedule. Yesterday I had to get up at 4 and go through some unannounced test.” He sighed.

“You know how crazy all of this is, right?”, James asked quietly; squeezing Haytham’s hand.

There was nothing Haytham could think of to say in return – he had an idea how abnormal his life had become, but at the same time, he reckoned it was just difficult because that’s what it took to become the person his father had meant for him to be. He had learned about the Templar’s cause, and Birch had told him about his father being a spy amongst the Assassins for a while, which was why there were so few files on him within the Templar Order. And it was true that he had learned a lot in the past five years; he was surpassing every other boy at the summer camp in strength, dexterity and strategy. He spoke three languages more or less fluently, and had just started a fourth.

“How’s your month been?”

James grimaced. “Can’t complain. Missed this, though.”

“Me too, Jim.” Haytham flashed him a smile. “Well, I better head back.”, Haytham added quietly, disentangling his hand from his friend’s. Their meetings were always too short – and he was incredibly glad that James went so far out of his way to make them happen. Maybe, one day, they could meet longer. “Oxford, yeah?”, Haytham muttered as they stopped and looked at each other.

James grinned and nodded. “Workin’ on it. I’ll be waitin’ for you. And from Oxford – we can go anywhere, right?”

It was their plan. It was the hope that carried Haytham through the bad days. In a bit over two years, he would join James at Oxford, and from there on, they would find their way into the world together. Haytham reached out; brushing his fingers along James’ cheek. “Thank you, Jim…”, he muttered. His gaze briefly dropped down to the other’s lips, and he had closed the gap between them before they could say anything more.

It was a brief, sweet kiss – not their first, and, as Haytham hoped, not their last. There were other things he wanted to do with James – things he couldn’t really think about when he was here, but at the summer camp, he had seen magazines and heard other boys talk.

James grinned when they parted and winked at Haytham before he turned around. “See ya!”, he called out; waving and then disappearing behind the stone wall and into the woods.

Haytham smiled to himself; his heart aching pleasantly.

On the way back, his step felt lighter. There was always a certain worry that James would stop showing up, but in the past years, he had always been there several days a week – and Haytham was well aware that the other’s trek through the forest took him a good hour, and he had school afterwards, too. Things were… strict now, but once he made it to University… things would be better, and he could spend more time with James; not permanently watched by Birch or his men. Less than three years. It would be long years, but… it was worth it.

The first light was coming through the heavy rain clouds, and Haytham stopped at his favourite spot close to the estate’s entrance – it was a slightly elevated spot, from where one could see the ocean. Before he had to move into the bunker, he had lived in a small chamber in the manor – the tiny, barred window had gone out towards the ocean, and he had loved that view. Taking a deep breath, he started to jog back towards the manor. One way or another, it would be a long day.

But as he approached the manor, he could tell that something was up. He was not entirely surprised – Birch had been moody and easily angered in the past days, and despite Haytham’s best attempts to keep the other pleased, Birch had lashed out at him several times. Now, he could spot several people outside of the front entrance – at this time of day, they were most likely waiting for _him._

He slowed his steps and approached them with caution. Five men, armed, well-trained – Templars, probably. Another unannounced training session, perhaps? Usually, he would head inside for breakfast and a shower now, and then start his training at 7am. The kitchen was situated in the manor rather than the bunker, and thus he entered the house still on a daily basis. He knew better than to speak to the men waiting outside directly – instead, he proceeded to go inside as he would usually. Without a word, the men followed him.

His heart was beating quicker now, and he could feel adrenaline starting to pulse through him – there was a distinct possibility that he had to fight them in some _ad hoc_ self-defence session. But inside, Birch was waiting. He stood at the bottom of the large staircase in the entrance hall; a stopwatch in his hands. Barely glancing up from it, he said, “56 minutes, 37 seconds. What were you doing, Haytham?”

Shit.

Haytham took a deep breath. He had gotten very good at lying. It was an essential skill to survive under Birch. “I stopped to watch the sunrise, Sir.”

Birch scoffed, glancing up from his watch. “Are you fucking kidding me? Did I raise William fucking Wordsworth?” He shook his head; an impatient and angry expression on his face. “You are a liar, Haytham, and I don’t suffer disloyal scum. I have done everything for you – and this is how you repay me?”

The Grand Master produced an envelope and threw it to the ground where it landed close to Haytham’s feet. With his heart hammering in his chest, the teenager picked it up. A part of him knew what was in there, but he fervently wished he was wrong. He opened the envelope and pulled out a picture. It was a grainy shot of him and James – kissing. It wasn’t from this morning, but from the day before he had left for summer camp.

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt.”, Birch said. “But I am being too kind on you, clearly. You know I can find out who that little faggot is, right?”

Haytham tried to breathe normally; he couldn’t show weakness. He had been scolded and punished for emotional outbursts before, and he had gotten much better at hiding his feelings. “Yes, Sir.”, he replied through gritted teeth.

“Now, tell me, are you a fucking faggot, Haytham?”

“No, Sir.”

“That’s right. I did not raise a faggot, and neither did your father. You are a weapon; _that’s_ what you are. You have a purpose; _one_ purpose. You cannot let yourself be seduced and distracted into these teenage fantasies. You are not like them. We value tradition in this house. Order. These perversions of modernity will not misguide you, and I will make sure of that. There is greatness waiting for you, Haytham. And one day, you will thank me for keeping you from these temptations.”

Birch came closer, and Haytham did his best to stay still – he had a good idea where this was going, but all he could do was to endure it. Better him than James.

“You lied to me, Haytham. I can forgive a temporary, misguided weakness, owed to your naiveté and youth.” Birch’s voice had gotten low and sweet – a tone that Haytham found most terrifying; more so than the other shouting at him. “But I simply cannot tolerate insolence and disloyalty. You understand that, Haytham, do you not?”

“Yes, Sir.” Haytham did his best to breathe normally and prepare himself for whatever was to follow.

The Grand Master stood in front of him now, and the armed men drew closer. Haytham’s heart was beating heavily in his chest, and he had to focus on breathing normally – trying not to shake or hyperventilate. Both were regarded as signs of weakness, and usually treated with ridicule or punishment. Better me than Jim, Haytham repeated in his head; better me than him…

The teenager managed not to flinch when Birch grabbed his chin and yanked it upward so they saw eye to eye.

“You will never see that boy again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”, Haytham brought out; trying not to avert his eyes as Birch stared at him.

“You will pay merely for your lies today, but next time I will not be as kind and merciful. Next time, I will bring your faggot friend in to _explain_ to him that he is distracting someone destined for greatness. I am sure I would be able to convince him that he has no business with someone like you. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Let this be an important lesson for you. This is for your best, Haytham, you will see. You might think I am harsh with you, but it is because I know what you need to grow into the man you are destined to be. I know what is best for you.”

With that, Birch let go of him and pulled away. “Take your punishment like a man. And don’t be late for training tomorrow. Oh, and, of course, from now on, I will have one of my men accompany you on your morning run.”

Birch resumed his position by the stairs; glancing at his watch as if he was annoyed at wasting time for this – clearly, he had more important things to do than deal with his _disloyal_ scum of a charge. He gave a wave at the men who had circled Haytham.

The teenager held his breath; readying himself for whatever was to come. He would take his punishment. Better me than Jim, he repeated to himself like a mantra.

_“Liam. I – Take me out.” Connor’s voice echoed in the back of his head._

Haytham was briefly confused by that strange voice in the back of his head, and almost didn’t catch one of the men’s command.

“Take off your clothes.”

Haytham swallowed but slowly complied. He knew better than to protest. Managing to have his hands almost not shaking at all, he pulled off his shirt; kicked off his shoes, and then took off his socks, sweatpants and, lastly, his boxers.

_“Liam!” Connor’s voice was more urgent now, but if Liam indeed heard him – nothing was changing._

Shivering just a little from the cold, he stood naked in the hallway; with Birch still barely paying any attention to him.

Two of the men grabbed him, and forced him down on his knees; holding him in place. Haytham let them – he wasn’t supposed to fight them; at least not yet.

“Repeat after me.”, Birch said in a strict tone. “I am a liar. I am disloyal scum…”

Haytham opened his mouth but the first sound that left him was a gasp when a whip snapped across his back and tore his skin open. “I… I am a liar.”, he brought out breathlessly; pain spiking through him as he tried to breathe and concentrate enough not to react more to the whipping.

Birch glanced at him; an eyebrow raised with impatience.

“I am disloyal scum.”, Haytham added with haste; tears filling his eyes at the next crack of the whip. He could already feel warm blood running down his back.

“I will not associate with faggots any further. I am grateful to my Master, who has sacrificed so much for me. I am _most_ grateful to my merciful Master, who elevates me from filth. I owe Master Birch everything. I will never show such disloyalty again.”

Haytham repeated word for word; held down as the whip snapped across his back – his skin broken and bloody by the end of it. It would add more scars to his already impressive collection… But better him than James.

Dark spots were dancing in front of his eyes as the whipping stopped. Even if he wanted, he wasn’t sure if he could stand up, and thus he was almost grateful as the men started to drag him away.

“Don’t be late for training tomorrow.”, Birch called after them with disdain as Haytham was dragged outside again and back to his cell. The memory started to disintegrate as they left the manor – rain falling more heavily now and washing off some of the blood streaming down the boy’s back...

**2019**

Haytham did his best to appear collected. Seeing James again, after all those years… It hurt like hell, but it had also been… sweet, in a way. He had loved him so much; and yet… or maybe _because_ he had loved him so, things had resulted in a catastrophe that he tried not to think about. He could only hope that that particular moment would not appear in these glimpses Connor was getting from his past. It was a memory too painful – full of hurt, shame, guilt and humiliation.

"What took you so long?" Connor's voice was low and upset - clearly speaking about Liam not immediately stopping the flow of the memory. Haytham was snapped out of his own considerations and glanced over at the Assassins.

"It's not as easy as you think.", Liam's answer sounded, and Haytham could see how he ushered Connor out of the room. "The modifications make it hard to navigate, and in order to keep the memories stable, we..." The voices slowly trailed off as they left the room.

After a short while, an unknown Assassin entered, and Haytham was allowed to drink some water before he was then left alone again. Connor had appeared drained and in need of a break after their session, and it was perhaps understandable – given that he had lived through getting injured and humiliated like that.

Haytham had troubles finding rest; testing out his restraints once more and trying not to think about James. For many years, he had been able to keep those memories down – but… this had been an all too vivid reminder of that chapter of his past. He stilled his motions when he could hear steps – one person; hesitant. Was someone checking up on him, or had someone decided to end things?

It was Connor. His broad frame was easily recognizable, even in the dim light. Haytham watched him as he came closer; hugging himself. The young man stopped in a safe distance from the Animus – not that Haytham’s restraints had a very far reach at all. The Grand Master averted his gaze; waiting for the other to say what he had come here to say.

“Why…?” Connor cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you run away?”

Haytham remained silent for a moment, then turned his head to look back at the other. Connor looked pale – perhaps owed to being down here in the basement for so long, and living through someone else’s memories while being unable to act or react.

“I did.”, Haytham replied calmly.

Connor seemed to wait for him to continue speaking, but when the Grand Master remained silent, the young man asked, “You didn’t… make it?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Connor nodded slowly; clearly thinking about the consequences of such an attempt. Something occurred to him, and he furrowed his brows; eyes focused on something… distant. “I… I didn’t know.”, he muttered; shifting and fidgeting with his hands as his eyes came to rest on Haytham again. It was not entirely clear what he meant – that his father had been in love with a boy, that his upbringing had been so abusive, or both. “I’m sorry.”

Haytham scoffed. “Sorry for what? For drugging me, dragging me here and subjecting me to _this?_ For rummaging through my past against my will in the worst way imaginable? For sharing these details with your misguided crew before you find what you need and kill me?”

Connor clenched his jaw; briefly on the verge of responding, but then he just turned around and left.

Haytham watched him leave, and only when he was alone again, he let out a shaky breath. If his memories continued like this… He shuddered. There were moments in there that he couldn’t bear to relive. But his restraints wouldn’t budge, and he was physically and emotionally drained from the hours he had spent in the Animus. Hopefully, his men would find him soon.


	3. All the Time in the World

**2019 – Unknown Location**

It was hard to tell whether or not it was day or night, down here in the Assassin's hideout. The lights had been dimmed, and there were no sounds from the outside world that could give Haytham any clue. Time seemed to stretch, or perhaps not pass at all. It reminded Haytham of the bunker, and no matter how much he wished he could stop thinking about those distant days, it truly was difficult to keep those memories away now - now, after he had briefly revisited those places, faces and hurts of the past. A part of himself was angry at his young self - angry at allowing Birch to hurt his loved ones and not going against him earlier. But at the same time, he knew all too well that when he had been ten years old and come under Birch's reign, the old man had done his best to break him and then mold him into the soldier he wanted. It had taken him many years to realize the extent of the old man's abuse, and even more years to gather the strength to defy him.

Haytham shifted on the uncomfortable machine; the restraints digging into his skin. He wondered what Connor was reporting to his superiors - how far into detail he went, and how in the hell they thought this would actually further their goals. In principle, they could threaten to reveal Haytham's sexuality to the public - the CEO certainly had not made these details public. But Haytham couldn't care less - he was a private person, but he wasn't ashamed. Not anymore... If only James could have seen how he had escaped Birch's shackles. If only James could have been by his side after Haytham had been able to become himself.

Of course, the Grand Master didn't cry for someone he had lost so many years ago now; someone he still missed, and whose memory tore open an old wound in his heart. But there was an undeniable lump in his throat that prevented Haytham from saying anything when the lights flickered on again, and Liam and Connor returned for their third session. Not that he had anything to say to them - he would just do his best to get through whatever memory would come to the surface this time.

**1988 – Oxford University, England**

James pulled him into his lap.

Haytham flung his arms around his boyfriend and grinned. It had been a long day, but now he allowed himself to relax in the other's arms. They were in James’ dorm room – a small, simple room, but entirely decked out with doodles, magazine cut-outs and posters. Most of the pictures left little doubt as to James’ sexual orientation, and Haytham always marvelled at this display, pride and confidence. He could only imagine how liberating it had to be… Of course, he could in no way follow the other's example - at least, not yet.

James tugged at his shirt, and Haytham gladly complied and pulled it off. At first, he had been very self-conscious about the scars that ran over his pale skin, but James had been sweet about it and insisted that he did not mind. Haytham was still savouring every moment they had together – Birch did keep close tabs on him, but living here was a dream turned reality. He had so much privacy and freedom in comparison to the past seven years of his life, and he felt like anything was possible. No one was watching over him as he slept; he could just be by himself for parts of the day, and he talked to so many people who were interested in what he had to say - people who genuinely wanted to get to know him, teach him, or simply treated him with decency. It had been overwhelming at first, but James had helped him adjust.

While they still couldn’t go out together in public, they met almost every day. Once, they had snuck off to a gay bar in London. It had been a crazy and adventurous night, and Haytham had enjoyed every second of it. After his sheltered life, it was entirely mind-blowing to him that there were young men out there, living their life with such pride and confidence. He hoped that one day, he could join them with James by his side. Surely, they could sneak off again - he had close to four years to enjoy here; and then... they would run away for good.

James’ fingers brushed over Haytham's broad frame, and he shuddered in anticipation. These gentle touches were everything to him – the most potent antidote to the corporal punishment he had gotten so used to. But not anymore - Birch wasn't around to punish him. He would have to return to the estate around Christmas - but that was still over a month away, and Haytham would do his best not to think about it until it was time to leave. The older boy’s lips brushed over his chest, and Haytham allowed a soft sound to come over his lips when James sucked on a nipple.

_“Uh, Liam… I- I don’t think this is, uh… Can we… can we skip?”, Connor stuttered in the back of his head. Whatever the Assassins were doing, the picture did not immediately change._

“Ah, Jim…”, Haytham breathed out quietly; his fingers digging into the other boy’s shoulders.

“Do you wanna go all the way tonight?”, James asked; glancing up at the other with tenderness and desire while his hands brushed over Haytham's back and came to settle on his ass.

Haytham hesitated, then shook his head.

“That’s alright. We have all the time in the world…”

James’ voice echoed; then the picture fragmented and dissolved into a loading segment; a few images glitching around him - James in bed with him; soft sounds of pleasure echoing in the void; fragmented, pixelated pictures of his first experiences with the other. Then darkness, and after a moment, the vision faded completely.

**2019**

“Damn it.”, Liam's voice sounded, and Haytham blinked up into the modified head piece that had gone blank; glitching slightly but clearly disconnected to his memories now. Whatever the Assassins were doing to try and guide or control the Grand Master's memories - it wasn't quite working.

“I need a moment to fix this - I'll take it upstairs. Better light. You go and rest, okay?”

Haytham watched as Connor got up from his version of the Animus and nodded at Liam's words - the young man's face a bit reddened. In a way, the CEO found it amusing how embarrassed Connor was by living through a rather intimate memory of his father. The Grand Master wondered how intense Connor was feeling what he had been feeling - the young Assassin had appeared shaken after the whipping, and slightly... _awkward,_ after being touched in such a tender way. As Abstergo's CEO, Haytham was well aware of the Bleeding Effect that could occur if someone used an Animus too intensely - but he reckoned three rather short sessions wouldn't do that to Connor just yet.

Haytham was allowed to get up for the first time after Liam and Connor had left. Some food and water was brought, and he was advised that he could take a few steps from the Animus, but not more. They put shackles on him, cuffed his hands, and had two Assassins standing by the entrance with tranq guns. Chevalier was the one to undo his previous restraints - only after the new ones that allowed Haytham more movement had already been put in place.

“This is _just_ to keep you alive a little longer.”, the Frenchman muttered with dismay. It was a tone that reminded Haytham of Birch - after all, he had just heard his former mentor's voice mere hours ago; speaking to him in _just_ that tone.

As soon as the last restraint had been undone, Haytham moved. If they killed him – fine. But he would do what he could to make this stop before they found anything of value or, indeed, _broke_ him. And if he took some of them out while he was at it - good. He leapt forward – even with his hands bound, he was perfectly capable of taking a swing at Chevalier. The Frenchman raised his arms in a split-second defensive motion, but it was not enough. It was entirely too satisfying to Haytham when he heard an audible crack as his fists made contact with the other’s arm.

Chevalier stumbled backwards, and Haytham did his best to keep the Frenchman between himself and the snipers by the door – the shackles around his feet wouldn’t allow him to move far, so he needed to get to Chevalier before he ran out of space. The Frenchman seemed to have thought of something similar and took a step back – but he was still reeling from the assault, and the moment of surprise was in Haytham’s favour.

The Grand Master dashed forward; grabbing Chevalier by his collar and head-butting him. He could feel the other stagger and go limp against him – at first, Haytham thought it was due to the headbutt, but then he realized that there was a tranq dart sticking out of Chevalier’s shoulder – the shooters had clearly tried to get a shot at Haytham but hit the Frenchman unwittingly acting as a shield.

There were hurried voices in the hallway now, and Haytham needed to act fast. There was no point in trying to make a run for it – he was still shackled to the Animus by his feet, and his hands were cuffed. He grabbed Chevalier’s gun and kept the Frenchman up; having him lean against Haytham as a shield against the tranq guns. It was a delicate balance to keep with his hands bound and holding onto the Assassin’s gun at the same time.

The two snipers had moved closer, but stopped once they saw the gun in Haytham’s hand. Two more Assassins entered the room – closely followed by Connor, who apparently had been sleeping before having been woken up by the alarmed shouting; he was just wearing some sort of… sweatpants, and Haytham would have found it amusing if the situation hadn’t been so incredibly tense.

The Grand Master realized that he was bleeding – probably a small laceration on his face due to the headbutt. He didn’t hold the gun to Chevalier’s head – he knew from Shay that the Frenchman wasn’t all that popular, and who knew what the Assassins would be willing to do to one of their own if they could subdue the Templar Grand Master in turn.

Instead, Haytham held the gun to his own head. After all, this was why he was here, wasn’t it? They needed him alive. More so than they suspected – even if they would find the Apple’s hiding place, they couldn’t easily access it without Haytham.

Connor’s expression was openly shocked – probably more honestly displaying his emotions than he usually was due to being woken up just moments ago. He had started to approach Haytham but stopped abruptly when he noticed the gun pressed against Haytham's temple; still standing the closest of them all.

“Haytham, please…” He staggered a bit closer; hands above his head to show that he was unarmed. Not that Haytham thought there was much room to hide anything in those sweatpants anyways.

The Grand Master scoffed. “Stop right there. Or your little experiment will end right now. I am not afraid to put my mission above my life and you should know that.”

Connor stopped; his big, dark eyes pleading. He seemed to try and think of something to say; a somewhat frantic and desperate expression appearing on his face.

“Oh, I was never meant to walk out of here, you know that. Either you kill me after you got what you wanted, or I end things before you do.”

“No! Wait!”, Connor burst out, taking a desperate little step forward.

Haytham raised an eyebrow but did not lower the gun.

“Boy, you shouldn’t be an Assassin if you’re not ready to see me die. Or is it the mission you are so worried about?”

Flipping the gun, Haytham was suddenly pointing it at his son – it was short range, and even if the others tried to take him out (which would be a challenge with Chevalier still resting against him) he could at least severely injure Connor.

“I, on the other hand, am perfectly fine shooting you.”, Haytham remarked.

Slowly, Connor let his hands sink. The expression on his face seemed tense still, but less desperate. Perhaps he found it easier to handle the Grand Master’s hostility towards him rather than Haytham pointing the gun at himself.

“It seems like you are the only one to access my memories – so if I get rid of you, your whole mission fails.”

“Then they won’t have use for you anymore, either.” Connor remarked quietly.

Haytham smiled. “Well, I am prepared to die for my cause. Are you?”

The young man’s gaze was intense – Haytham couldn’t quite place the vortex of emotions visible in that stare but he believed to see a sort of sadness or disappointment. It was almost as if anything had changed between them. Which, certainly, it hadn’t. Connor had been the one to bring him here, and now invaded his memories in the name of the Creed – rummaging around in the most personal events to find some sort of leverage against his father or a clue about the whereabouts of the Piece of Eden in Haytham’s possession.

“Haytham, _please._ You can make it out of this alive.”, he muttered. It was almost inaudible, but Haytham had heard it.

For some reason or another, the Grand Master hesitated to pull the trigger – be it on himself or his son. He had little scruple killing people opposing him, and the thought of his own death did not frighten him. And yet, there was something in Connor’s eyes – a desperate sort of hopefulness; a vulnerability that struck a chord within Haytham. Maybe he had seen that expression before - or maybe, he had felt like that himself, once upon a time.

A soft sound and a sting in his neck snapped Haytham out of his daze of indecision. He stumbled – fully aware what had happened even before he saw Liam with a sniper rifle emerging from the shadows of the hallway. Perhaps it had been their strategy all along. Perhaps Connor had been instructed to distract and stall him until a more experienced sniper could find an angle to get him at. It was risky still – he could have injured or killed Connor.

There had been a second in which Haytham could have pulled the trigger. Connor was still in his line of sight, and, foolishly, hadn’t moved away as soon as the tranq dart had hit the Grand Master. But the gun simply fell from Haytham’s hand, and he slumped down; darkness wafting through his mind before he fell unconscious. _Haytham, please… You can make it out of this alive,_ it echoed in his head.


	4. A Fragment of Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned in the beginning & as is tagged for this fic, there is a scene surrounding rape in this Chapter. I repeat it here as a **trigger warning**

**2019 – Unknown Location**

When Haytham came to again, he was not surprised to find himself strapped back into the Animus. His head hurt, and a slight bitterness suffused him – he could have ended this and made sure the Assassins would not find any trace of the Piece of Eden. But he had hesitated – even if he had only shot Connor rather than himself, he would have ended their twisted journey through his head. At least, he tried to tell himself, he had bought himself some time – for however long he had been out.

Glancing around, the Grand Master realized that Connor sat close - arms crossed, legs spread and slumped down in the chair as he was apparently taking a nap. He was wearing a hoodie now, and Haytham wondered why he was by his side - it seemed unlikely that he was merely _guarding_ him, since Connor seemed to be asleep. Shifting a little, Haytham cleared his throat.

Connor startled slightly - jerking awake and blinking sleepily before he seemed to realize where he was, and what had woken him up. His eyes focused on Haytham, and his expression seemed almost forlorn.

Haytham regarded him musingly; wondering what Connor was thinking or feeling about the glimpses he had gotten of his father's past. The young man straightened, but remained silent.

“You know it's bullshit, don't you?”, Haytham asked after a moment; trying to shift into a more comfortable position. It had been good to get up - his body was feeling stiff and sore after lying in the same position for so long.

Connor's gaze was puzzled, and the Grand Master snorted at the young Assassin's incomprehension as to what he was talking about.

“There is no scenario in which I make it out of here alive.”, Haytham said; his voice calm yet sharp. “You will subject me to this torture until you find what you need - and I gather they will ask _you_ to be the one to kill me when it comes to it. Just to assure they have your loyalty, and that all this digging around in my memories has not made you _sympathetic_ towards me.”

The young man's dark eyes flashed with something that Haytham thought looked like guilt - but, of course, he could be mistaken.

“Don't look at me like that, boy. These memories should not sway your loyalty. They don't change who I am to you - they don't change my actions and your reasons to oppose me, do they?” Haytham scoffed a little and averted his gaze. Despite his harsh words, he couldn't deny the fact that he had given in to the young man's desperate call - he had the chance to end this, but he hadn't followed through. If Connor was going to call him out on it, he did not have the chance to do so as steps echoed in the hallway, and Liam appeared in the room.

The fourth session started briefly afterwards. Now that Liam was here, there was no further talk – but at least Chevalier was nowhere to be seen, and Haytham was vaguely satisfied that he had managed to hurt him. Shay would be proud, surely.

**1989 – Birch Estate, Northern England**

Haytham blinked. He found himself back at Birch’s estate – a sudden feeling of dread overcoming him as he recognized the familiar walls of the bunker. Internally, he froze. _Not this memory. Not this memory. Not this memory. Not this –_

He pressed his back against the wall; staring at the steel door and hugging himself tightly. Nausea was making it hard to breathe – hard to stand and stay still. He wanted to scream, but what good would that do? He knew this room – it was sound-proof, and rather impossible to escape from. The steel door would not budge, not even with his strength. A soft whimper escaped him. “Jim…”

Hearing the steps in the hallway made him jolt with anxiety and guilt. He wished he could stop the tears streaming down his face – Birch wouldn’t like this display of weakness. With frantic despair, a part of him tried to make the sequence go away – more so than any other memory, he wanted to escape this. _Not this memory…_ This part of himself was aware that this wasn’t happening right now; that this had happened many years ago. But he couldn’t really remember the present right now, either; the way his memories ran forward and created the person he had become so many years later. Right now, there was just nausea, dread and helplessness swirling through him violently.

Maybe, when the door opened, he could rush past them in a moment of surprise – but what then? The bunker was difficult to escape. Plus… what had been done to James was irreversible at this point, and Haytham almost felt like he deserved what the immediate future had in store for him. If only James wasn’t involved in any of this…

The door opened, and Haytham flinched; shock running through him, even though a part of himself had known what would present itself to him. Two of Birch’s guards were dragging James’ lifeless body into the cell. He wasn’t dead. But in a way, he might very well be – a part of him had died that day, and he would never recover from what had been done to him.

A sob escaped Haytham as he stumbled closer; his body feeling numb and disconnected as his heart broke at the sight of his boyfriend. The guards let go of James in the middle of the room and then stepped back. Haytham wanted to call out the other’s name, but only a broken little sound escaped him as he kneeled down next to James; his fingers shaky as he wanted to touch him, but knew that his touch would not provide any comfort. James’ body was broken and abused, and while he was physically conscious… there was no expression in his eyes.

Haytham was kneeling next to the young man he had been flirting, kissing and more with in the past months; knowing that it had been… forbidden, and yet, he had felt so safe with James. These few months had been the most wonderful and hopeful time in his life; for just this time, it had seemed as if… he could break free one day; escape with James into a kinder world.

But he had been selfish. Birch had warned him… Selfishly, he had kept seeing him; and as a consequence, James had gotten… not just hurt, but so much worse. He had been broken. Another sob escaped Haytham, and he desperately wished he could undo what had been done. He wished he could provide some sort of comfort, but he knew he couldn’t.

“This is on you, Haytham.”, Birch’s voice sounded. “I warned you. I tried to get you to come to your senses.”

Haytham looked up; his sight blurry with tears as he watched his mentor step into the room; flanked by his guards. Part of him wanted to scream and attack the other; but his body wouldn’t comply – frozen in place by shock and heavy-weighing guilt.

“This was not easy for me, either, Haytham. I did not want to do this, believe me. But you pushed me to it. It was the only way to get you to stop. I am in disbelief that you want _cock_ more than the successful completion of your studies. But rest assured, your friend James Holden has now been removed from that pool of choice. I expect you to _fully_ concentrate on your education again; now that any distractions have been _cut away._ I have been too gentle with you. I have spoiled you.”

Haytham felt dizzy and couldn’t help the violent tremble that ran through him; his mind processing what Birch was saying James had been subjected to – _James,_ who had been so patient, loving, supportive and proud… Haytham tried to breathe; swallow down the tears – anything to help him through this moment and make this alright – but he knew he couldn’t. He had destroyed his only friend’s life thoroughly by giving him his attention and love.

“Well, I reckon I have to spoil you one last time before you will be satisfied and able to do what I ask of you. Perhaps I underestimated your youth’s desire. It was not easy, but I found men willing to indulge you tonight. When you return to university, I expect you to have fully shaken off this perversion – you may find a woman to settle down with, but only if she is no distraction to your work.”

A choked sound escaped Haytham’s throat at the other’s words – nausea and guilt crashing through him as he curled in on himself. Four men entered the cell while the two guards left. James was still on the floor – motionless but awake. Haytham wanted to beg them to take Jim away from here – not to have him watch – to have him helped and –

“I expect you to show your gratitude to these gentlemen, who are so _selflessly_ willing to indulge your perversions. I am certain that by the end of today, you have realized that this is not who you are. That this is not what you want. I know that you are straight as an arrow – deadly like one, too. Now, enjoy the company.” With that, the steel door slammed shut behind Birch, and Haytham was alone with James and the four men who had just entered. They were all well-trained and muscular; probably from within the Order. Some had weapons – he could spot batons and tasers – and Haytham’s heart sank. He could fight them off for a little while, but he was an unarmed teenager – despite his superior strength, his calculations left him at a disadvantage. Plus, Birch had asked him to show his gratitude… With James in Birch’s hands, Haytham did not dare to go against his Grand Master’s wishes. His shoulders slumped; his stomach turning. If only James wasn’t here to watch…

_“Liam.” Connor’s voice was shaky and… if Haytham didn’t know any better, horrified. “Liam, change. Skip this. This is not… n-not what we’re… Liam? Liam!”_

“Yeah, show your gratitude, bitch.”, one of the men sneered as they circled the teenager. “How about you give us a better look, huh?”

Haytham was shaking; shifting away from James as much as he could without getting closer to the men. His bright eyes were wide and displaying his shock – still on his knees and clearly still trying to get his body to do anything but move away from James to keep him out of this as much as he could.

“He told you to strip.”, another man said with impatience, taking out his baton. “Get up.”

Shakily, Haytham rose to his feet; a part of him wanting to fight – conflicted about the long- and short-term result of his resistance. He could potentially escape these men’s torment, but… what then? Could he really risk James’ well-being any further? No; this was his punishment – he _deserved_ this for what he had caused…

_“Liam! Stop!” Connor’s voice was breathless and urgent, and reminded Haytham that he was not reliving this by himself._

Slowly Haytham started to take off his clothes; eyes fixed to a point on the floor where he saw neither the men, nor James’ blank expression. He stood before them naked; shoulders hunched; his dark hair hiding his bright eyes.

One of the men whistled in what seemed to be appreciation. “Sporty-type, are you? Damn, look at those abs.”

“Geez, the scars are kinda disgusting, though.”, one of them remarked. They chuckled and Haytham could hear fabric rustle; his heart galloping, his stomach flipping. Internally, his body screamed for him to do something – to fight these men – but – he couldn’t bear the consequences of further disobedience –

“You can take them, Haytham. I know you can. We can make it out of this together.”

Haytham’s head jerked upwards. James was trying to stand up – clearly in pain and white as a sheet. But his words were like cold water and washing away the helplessness. Maybe – if he could get a hold of their weapons – he could fight his way out of here. With James. And then –

Growling, Haytham tensed; his eyes quickly scanning the room. He had been tasered before. Depending on the strength – he could make it. But it would be best if he could avoid it – take out the men with the tasers first, and then –

“Shit, he really wants to fight now, doesn’t he?”, one of the men said with what seemed to be amusement. “The boss wasn’t wrong – he’s a feisty one.”

Two of them came closer to Haytham – batons in their hands. The other two fell back and moved towards James, who struggled to stand up. Haytham knew that he had to act fast – get to James before they did, and make sure they wouldn’t harm him.

He dashed forwards – dodging an attack as he moved past them and tackled the first of the two men approaching James. A quick, precise punch had the man knocked out and Haytham was about to get up when he heard a soft, strangled sound. He lifted his eyes and froze. The other man had grabbed James - who, in his condition, clearly hadn't been able to evade him - and pressed a knife against the young man's throat so tightly that it was drawing blood. “We can cut away more of him if you don't behave.”, the man muttered through his teeth, and Haytham slowly raised his hands in defeat; his heart throbbing and his mind spinning. This couldn't be happening. They would make it out of this together, wouldn't they?

While Haytham could feel one of the other two men drawing closer from behind, he did his best to stay still - unsure if Birch had allowed the men to harm James significantly in case Haytham disobeyed. He couldn't risk it - James had endured enough because of him _…_ A sudden sting in his neck caused him to startle; not having expected being injected with something. Maybe they didn't want to risk him attacking them again _…_

He slumped down; his eyes growing wide and his body strangely disconnected to his frantic attempts to get up. The man he had punched was now being tended to by one of the others – after a brief moment, he got up and then leaned over Haytham. There was blood on his face and he was doubtlessly pissed off.

Haytham barely saw the first punch coming – stars dancing in front of his eyes as the other’s fist landed in his face. Distorted voices sounded around him – James’ voice shouting for him to get up… _James…_

“Don't hurt him!” James' desperate, distant voice broke Haytham's heart. After everything the other had been through… how could he still be worried about him? Didn't he see that Haytham deserved this for what he had caused? Haytham wanted to tell him - tell James that it was alright; it didn't matter what happened to him. He deserved it. Haytham barely felt the punches - sounds and colours mingling together as he closed his eyes and lost himself in the spinning vortex of dizziness and hurt. Part of him could feel what was happening to his body, but part of him didn't.

_“Stop! Stop…!” Connor’s desperate voice mingled with the cheering of the men, and James’ low shouts._

“- you’re gonna kill him, dude. We’re not supposed –”, one of the other men intervened, and the punches stopped. Haytham was gasping; blood pouring from his lips. He blinked, but blood in his eyes made it hard to see.

“How am I gonna get it up if he looks like that, man.”, one of them muttered in dismay, and Haytham almost wanted to laugh, but his body wouldn't quite comply.

_“Liam!” Connor's voice echoed in despair and horror.  
_

“Just turn him around.”, the man who had hit him said, and promptly, Haytham was turned on his stomach. He could feel hands on him - shoving him in place, holding him down and spreading his legs. He did not have the willpower, strength and lucidness to defy them anymore. He knew what was happening, but the only thing he truly wished for was that James wasn't there to see it.

_“Please, please… No… No…”, Connor whimpered.  
_

Whatever the Assassins were doing to heed Connor's desperate calls – it didn’t quite work. The memory did start to flicker and glitched – but fragments of what happened next still came through. Haytham’s low cries echoed in the void of the Animus; and then he was violently pulled back into the bunker for long seconds. Moments later, he was released back into the loading void – bleeding, hurt and confused. Back and forth it went; with fragments of hell glitching in and out.

“Damn, he's so tight, you could almost think -”

_Loading…_

“- always wanted to try –”

_Loading…_

“Shit, never thought this would –”

_Loading…_

“Take it, bitch –”

_Loading…_

Then the picture stabilized again, and Haytham believed to hear Connor’s quiet whimper in the distance. It was a strange reminder of this passenger throughout this memory, though the ramifications of Connor’s presence were not yet unfolding in Haytham’s consciousness. He was in pain; unable to focus on anything.

The stench of blood and vomit was breath-taking, and Haytham retched as he crawled further towards Jim. They were alone now; the four men had left. He was still dizzy and disoriented from whatever it was that they had sedated him with, but the pain and his fast metabolism were slowly making him surface from the drug-induced weakness and disorientation he had been experiencing in the last… how long had it been? How many hours had he been in here? He couldn’t be sure.

His body was aching, and he was rather sure that his one arm was broken – along with his shoulder being oddly twisted and preventing him from moving his arm at all. His throat was burning, and his one eye had swollen up so badly that he could barely see on that side. He reached out to take James’ hand; only now realizing that he was crying – noiseless sobs shaking his bruised, naked body as he held onto his friend’s hand. “Jim…”

_“Get me out…” Connor’s voice sounded weakly in the back of his head. It almost sounded as if he was crying. “Please…”_

Haytham drifted off – the pain mind-numbing and weighing him down physically, or so it felt like. He was still holding onto James’ hand – but the other was motionless and unresponsive.

When the door of the cell was opened, Haytham jolted. He hadn’t heard the footsteps and was extremely wary of who would enter – were the men back? But as he glanced up – barely able to see with his one eye – he froze as he saw Birch standing in the doorway. With bated breath, Haytham waited for the other to say or do something.

“How pathetic. Get up.”, Birch commanded with impatience, as if Haytham had offended him by not immediately getting to his feet once the Grand Master had entered.

For just a moment, Haytham considered telling the other that he couldn’t. But he was well aware that this particular answer wasn’t valid. It had never been. With a quiet groan of pain, Haytham let go of James’ hand and started to get to his feet – a slow, painful process with many moments of trying to keep his balance; of not vomiting and not falling over because his knees couldn’t support him. After what felt like long minutes, he stood before Birch – bloody and bruised; naked still, his broad frame shaking. He was eighteen years old, but he felt like a shivering child; scared, humiliated and alone. His face was bloody and swollen, and on one side, his shoulder and arm were bruised and broken. His body was littered with bruises, cuts and bite marks even; cum and blood drying on his reddened skin. His knees barely supported him and every moment on his feet felt like eternity.

Birch came closer, and Haytham bowed his head. He couldn’t help the trembling – unsure what to expect. Was the other’s anger pleased by what had been done to him? Birch squeezed his injured shoulder with a strong hand, and Haytham whimpered quietly in pain – just so being able to pull himself together and not scream or faint. But the pain was so overwhelming that he briefly saw white flashes in front of his eyes, and his breath went away.

Close to his ear, Birch whispered, “I am sure you have learned your lesson, Haytham. You got what you wished for, and this will be the last I tolerate of it. But you have stabbed me in the back with your ongoing deceit. We have to balance that out before we can go on, don’t you agree?”

Haytham couldn’t bring himself to reply, and it seemed like Birch didn’t expect him to anyways. Before he could react in any other way, an unbearable pain shot through him. Haytham bucked and gasped – then Birch twisted the knife in his lower back and pulled it out.

Haytham collapsed at an instant; shaking and gasping for air – his body convulsing as pain crashed through him. Darkness ate at the edges of his vision – making him feel like he couldn’t breathe; couldn’t move. But even now, he knew that Birch wouldn’t kill him. No, whatever Birch had done, it had been intentional. It had meant to hurt like crazy, which it _did,_ but it was not supposed to kill him. A treacherous part of himself wished that Birch had miscalculated the exact place and had indeed wounded him fatally.

He could feel the blood pool in the small of his back; mixing with the dried cum and blood that still lingered on his body.

“Now we are even.”, Birch said, glancing down at him with unveiled disgust.

**2019**

The memory cut off abruptly – Haytham blinked; gasping for air as he found himself back in the Assassin’s basement; his body shaking, his eyes wet with tears. It appeared as if Liam had shut down the Animus completely in an attempt to stop the flow of the memory.

The aching of his body only slowly faded – it was a memory, he reminded himself as he tried to regain his composure. A distant past – and yet, his heart throbbed at having had to live through that again; his throat sore and his head hurting still. He blinked the treacherous tears from his eyes; trying his best to stay composed and not show any weakness to his enemies. But seeing Jim hurt like this again, after all those years… It truly had been a fragment of hell - his worst nightmares still revolving around these moments.

A sound caught his attention, and only after a moment he realized that Connor was crying quietly.

“What happened in there?” Liam’s voice sounded with concern. “We tried to change it, but we’re still figuring everything out. As I said –”

“I told you to get me out!”, Connor snapped; his voice strangled. “I begged you!”

Haytham saw from the corner of his eye how the young man struggled from his Animus chair, and more or less fled the room.


	5. This Changes Nothing!

**2019 - Unknown Location**

Haytham had drifted off into an uneasy sleep. They wouldn’t take off his restraints fully or give him much range to move - not after he had attacked Chevalier and made clear just how far he was willing to go to end the Assassins’ attempts to get information from his memories. But he had gotten a blanket, and the restraints had been extended so that he could move just slightly. It wasn’t quite enough to shift onto one side but enough to give his aching limbs a change of position. He did his best to rest – whatever was next, he would need his energy. His attempt to flee or kill himself had been thwarted, and now he could only hope that his men would find him, and that he could outlast the Assassins until then. He wished he knew what Connor was telling them – would he detail to his superiors the things he had seen last time? Haytham shuddered at the thought – he had never shared the details of that memory with anyone; no matter how close or trusting he had been with anyone. To think that the Assassins would keep a record of it or communicate it internally displeased him gravely.

A sound caught his attention, and as he blinked, he saw someone come closer in the dim light of the room. While he wished it was one of his men, he realized quickly that it was Connor. The young man was wearing clothes that seemed like sleepwear – sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt with a washed-out village festival print on it. It was a strange reminder of Connor’s heritage and upbringing outside of the Creed.

The young Assassin approached him mutely and stopped next to the Animus – carelessly close. Haytham could reach out and grab him –

A hand enveloped his own.

The Templar furrowed his brows in confusion – what was Connor doing?

The young man bowed his head; squeezing his father’s hand. At first, Haytham wanted to rebuke the other – tell him he didn’t need someone to hold his hand and pity him. But before he had uttered any of that, it dawned on him that this wasn’t just about himself. Connor wasn’t simply pitying him for something that had happened such a long time ago. No, Connor had been there with him; just a few hours ago. The young man had been trapped in these memories, too, and he had had no idea what he had gotten himself into – raped and beaten; living through a fragment of hell that had never been meant for him. This experience was recent to him – not lulled by the steady grind of time.

Haytham’s expression softened; and gently, he brushed his thumb along the back of Connor's hand. They shared this memory now, and in a way, Haytham felt deeply sorry that Connor had not only witnessed this traumatic event, but… _experienced_ it first-hand. No matter their enmity – the Grand Master had never wished for his son to be sucked into that vortex of abuse. He had never meant to pass on this violence; never thought of himself as a father. A part of him felt shame, too, for having been helpless and subjected to this – shame for not ending Birch’s reign earlier. Even after that event, it had taken him many years to realize the extent of his mentor’s betrayal and abuse.

A silent sob shook the young man’s frame, and he shifted closer; lifting his gaze just enough to catch Haytham’s glance. The Grand Master was struck by Connor’s expression – he had clearly cried before he had come down here, and even in the dim light, Haytham could see the reddened and puffy eyes. Only now it truly occurred to him that Connor was just a few years older than him when this had happened to him - a fact that Connor had probably realized, too.

They shared this gaze briefly; and Haytham squeezed his son’s hand in reassurance. There was nothing comforting he could say – no words really did that memory justice. But there was not just sadness in Connor’s expression – there was anger, too. In a way, Haytham was surprised by that – he had not been angry for a long time. He had felt guilty and responsible for his father’s death, his mother’s spite, and Jim’s fate; deserving of punishment, and lacking in emotional capacities. The anger had come much later; indeed, only _after_ he had decided to go against Birch and become Grand Master himself. Back then, perhaps, he had been too encapsulated and subdued by the daily abuse and neglect to truly realize the extent of it and be angry on his own behalf: angry about what had been done to him and his loved ones. Seeing this anger in Connor’s eyes now was reminding him how truly outrageous and cruel Birch’s actions had been.

For a moment, Haytham considered saying something – but before he could, Connor pulled away. The young man hesitated, and then turned around and left.

Haytham stared after him; wondering what had prompted the young man’s visit in the first place. Surely, his superiors wouldn’t like him coming down to see his father, unless it was for a reason to further their goals. Perhaps it was - perhaps Connor's presence was meant to create some sort of trust they could use against him. But the young man’s sincerity had always been rather striking – Connor’s temper and incapability of lying convincingly were a testament of that. Haytham wondered if he would have been like that himself – if Birch hadn’t made him tune out his emotions, and forced him to become a very adept liar.

Sighing and reminding himself that it was pointless to consider such _what ifs_ , the Templar settled back into a position to sleep; still feeling exhausted and upset about revisiting those distant days. But before he could drift off again, he heard a soft clanking sound. Furrowing his brows, he propped himself up as much as he could – staring at the entrance of the room; wondering what was going on now.

Connor emerged again; carrying a folded sleeping cot with a determined expression on his face.

Watching the young man with raised eyebrows, Haytham bit back a comment. Connor quickly set up the cot; pushing it close to the Animus and crawling onto it. He was practically lying next to Haytham now, with little height difference between the Animus and the cot.

With a hint of hesitance, Connor shifted closer; reaching out to take Haytham’s hand again. Neither of them had verbally acknowledged any of this, and Haytham wondered what was going on with the young Assassin. However, despite himself, he took his son’s hand and squeezed it gently. As soon as he had – in this way – encouraged the other’s closeness, Connor moved closer still, and buried his face in Haytham’s shoulder. The Grand Master allowed it – his free hand coming up and brushing through his son’s hair.

Connor tensed for a moment – clearly, there was a thought charging through his mind that Haytham would try to hurt him. But the tension melted away at the older man’s comforting touch, and Connor held tightly onto Haytham’s hand; his tears wetting his father’s shirt.

Haytham wished there was something of comfort to say. It had been overwhelming to go through this distant moment of his past again – but going through it in Connor’s place; unable to do anything, other than beg to be taken out of it, had to be frightening in a different way. So Haytham remained silent; his fingers brushing through the other’s hair and providing the only comfort he could. Right now, he was the only one who understood what Connor had seen. And in a way, Connor was the only person who would ever understand what Haytham had really gone through. It was an odd thought – his Assassin son now knew things that Haytham had never been able to discuss with anyone.

“What happened to him?”, Connor whispered after a while; his face still buried in Haytham’s shirt, though the tears had stopped flowing.

The Templar thought for a moment – wondering who Connor meant. “Jim?”

Instead of replying, the young man nodded; face pressed against his father's shoulder still.

“He killed himself not long after.”

Haytham could feel how the other tensed; clearly upset to hear about James’ fate. Why would Connor care? He had never met James – though…

“I feel like I knew him.”, the young man muttered breathlessly. “Like I cared for him.” Connor shifted; propping himself up to catch Haytham’s glance.

The Grand Master held his son’s gaze – still struck by the display of emotions he could see in the other’s dark, teary eyes. His fingers brushed dark strands of hair out of the other’s face – unsure what Connor needed from him.

“I feel like I know you better now, too.”, the young man mumbled; his expression turning coy.

A low growl rumbled in Haytham’s throat, and almost instinctively, his grip on the young man’s hair tightened – pulling him back and having the other bare his throat. “You don’t.”, Haytham snapped. “I am no victim – spare your pity. These memories do not define me.”

A confused and hurt expression briefly flashed through the young Assassin’s eyes; his one hand still holding onto Haytham’s, the other curling into his father’s shirt as he clearly fought the urge to somehow free himself from the Templar's grip. “No –”, he spluttered. “That’s not what I meant.”, he hastened to add; a bit of stubbornness returning to his expression. “I know fully well how capable you are – it’s not pity.”

Haytham did not ease his grip – glowering at the young man. He hated the idea of Connor looking at him differently now. It was precisely the reason he had never spoken of these memories; he did not want his partner to see him and only see a victim of abuse.

Almost breathlessly, Connor continued to speak; his hand coming up and hesitantly brushing along his father’s cheek. “It’s your strength I marvel at.”

A hint of confusion and irritation appeared on the Grand Master’s face, but was quickly replaced by a stony expression. “Nonsense. This changes _nothing_.”

Connor’s expression softened. “I do mean it. I don’t think I could’ve survived… all of that. But you did – you’re no victim, you’re here, stronger than ever, and he isn’t. It’s the extent of your strength I understand better now.”

Haytham let go of the other’s hair; his expression almost dumb-founded, though he did his best to appear irritated still. “Nonsense.”, he repeated in a mutter, but even to his own ears, it did not sound convincing. Was Connor serious?

He expected Connor to pull away after he had handled him so roughly, but the young man stayed close. For a moment they simply stared at each other; gauging each other’s reaction to the most heartfelt conversation they had ever had. Eventually, Connor relaxed a little more; lying back down next to his father, with his head resting on Haytham’s shoulder.

Connor remained by his side for most of the night. He held onto his father’s hand tightly, and drifted off to sleep for a while – leaning against Haytham’s broad frame and finding the comfort he clearly needed. When the first voices and steps echoed in the hallway, Connor pulled away – understandably unwilling to have anyone find them like this. But as their eyes met, there was an understanding – for the first time, there seemed to be a connection; facilitated by the dark memories they had lived through together.

* * *

“I don’t want to do it.”

Haytham stayed still as he listened to the muffled voices in the hallway. It had to be early still, though the young man had probably had breakfast while he had been away, and Haytham had been brought some food and water, too. He had considered refusing it, but reckoned it was not wise.

Connor sounded quiet, yet determined – not unlike the day they had begun all of this.

“You are the _only one_ who can do it, Connor. It’s not - not _real,_ you know that. Are you worried about the bleeding effect? Or is it – what you see that he has _done?_ You still haven’t told us what really happened last time.”

Connor scoffed quietly, and Haytham could imagine his facial expression all too well – irritated and impatient.

“You don’t know what you are talking about.”, the young man said with vehemence. “It’s – I –“ He fell silent for a moment, then sighed audibly. “You don’t understand.” His voice sounded defeated now, and Haytham wasn’t surprised as the footprints came closer, and the session started despite Connor's reluctance.

**1999 – Abstergo Tower, New York City, USA**

A knock on his door snapped Haytham out of his thoughts.

He looked up from his computer; tensing as he called out, “Come in.” Was it Birch again? The Grand Master had already harassed him twice today – a regular occurrence ever since Haytham had started his job as Assistant Director in Abstergo’s production unit. He had worked in New York City over the past years and for much of his time as a PhD student at Columbia University.

But it was not the CEO who appeared in the doorframe. It was his friend and accomplice William Johnson. Johnson was roughly ten years Haytham's senior, and had worked with him on some projects within the last two years. Only after some months had Haytham realized that Johnson was critical of Birch’s leadership, and through some carefully negotiated conversations, had gotten the other’s loyalty in pursuit of dethroning the old man.

Haytham relaxed and got up. Since he doubted they could speak freely in his office, they usually retreated to a spot where they would not be overheard or spied upon. The old building that served as the Abstergo headquarters had a flat roof, and a short while later, the two men stood on there; looking over the city’s impressive skyline.

“Director Munro is on board.”, Johnson said as they lead against the balustrade.

Haytham nodded. His expression was grim, but there was a gleam of triumph in his bright eyes. This was just the beginning. It would take _years,_ but things had been set in motion. And if he was lucky, he would be alive to see Birch's resignation as CEO of Abstergo, and Grand Master of the Rite.

“Any news on the other cases?”

Johnson pulled out a few papers with notes. “I might have a lead on your sister. We tracked the payment Birch received to a brothel owner in Poland. Hickey has someone over there currently seizing the paperwork – I am carefully optimistic we will find something in there that helps us trace her.”

Haytham nodded; jaw clenched. Only two years ago had he found out that Birch had told his mother he would take care of _both_ children – only to have Jenny sent away; probably sold. It fit with the old man’s misogyny that Haytham knew all too well.

Johnson shuffled his papers and furrowed his brows. “Now; your ex-girlfriend… She’s fine. I have someone check-up on her weekly. She married a local doctor two weeks ago. They have a son now.”

A melancholic smile appeared on Haytham’s lips. He couldn’t deny the tug of jealousy – but it was for the best. “Good.”, he muttered. “I know better than to have people I care about around when I oppose Birch. And yet, I certainly did not enjoy the way things ended. I am glad she is happy – I knew she would not have troubles getting over me.”

Johnson cocked his head; gaze lifted from the papers. “If I may say so, but that does not ring quite true – she did try to contact you over the period of several months. I would not necessarily classify this as having no troubles getting over your relationship.”

Haytham sighed. “Knowing her, she probably wanted to tell me to go fuck myself in person. Ziio takes shit from no one, certainly not me.” He ran a hand over his face. “Which is precisely why I couldn’t tell her the whole truth. She’d…” He shook his head. “Either talk me out of it if she knew the risks, or try to help me.”

Johnson nodded. “It is a sensible strategy to keep civilians out of this.” He pulled out another piece of paper and scrutinized it briefly before his gaze flickered back to Haytham. “Now, the other thing…”

This time, Haytham was the one who nodded; his expression growing stern again. “He cannot get his hands on it.”, he muttered with determination audible in his voice. “I have failed to stop other questionable missions and projects, but if he gets his hands on a Piece of Eden…” Haytham shuddered.

Johnson nodded. “We all agree, Haytham. We are with you, you know that. Now, our research indicates that the Apple's location…”

_“Liam. Can we take a break? This is not… not what we’re looking for…”_

**2019**

Rather quickly, the memory disintegrated and faded away. It seemed as if Liam wanted to avoid a situation like on the previous day, and thus assured that Connor’s words were followed promptly.

Haytham blinked as the headpiece was taken off. Wasn’t this _precisely_ what the Assassins would be interested in? He glanced over to Connor, who got out of his modified Animus seat. “Some childhood memories again.”, Connor lied as he got up. “I’ll be back in a moment. Just need some fresh air.”, the young man added in a mutter. He briefly glanced over and caught Haytham’s glance – quickly averting his eyes and leaving without further comment.

Puzzled, Haytham looked after him. Why was Connor lying to them?


	6. A Point of no Return

**2019 – Unknown Location**

While Connor was gone, Liam busied himself with the modified Animus. The Grand Master did his best to watch the Irishman's knowing handling of the equipment, but his view was too obscured to gain insight on what precisely the other was doing. Haytham had been heavily involved in this technology and was more than curious how they had modified the Animus. Of course, he had not overseen the technical inception of the Animus himself. He had merely facilitated its development, but, from the beginning, he had understood its powerful capabilities. That he would be subjected to having to relive his own memories unlocked by his son - well, that had certainly not been on the agenda.

Uneven steps echoed in the hallway. Haytham averted his gaze towards the entrance, but he could tell that it wasn’t Connor who would enter the room. Indeed, it was Connor’s mentor who emerged from the darkness of the hallway – it was Achilles Davenport himself.

Liam glanced up and the Assassins exchanged a nod; then, the Irishman left the room.

Achilles wandered closer; staring musingly down at Haytham; once more evoking the image of a zoo visitor eyeing a caged beast. It was the first time they were face-to-face in many years.

“You are brought to justice, Grand Master. Your crimes are being revealed, and your reign will be no more.”, the other's soft voice sounded.

Haytham bared his teeth in a defiant smile. “I reckon one of my most foolish crimes was to show you mercy, Achilles Davenport.”

The older man raised his eyebrows. “Mercy? You crippled me.”

“And clearly, you deserved worse.”

The other shook his head, a spiteful expression flickering in his eyes. “Oh, your ruthlessness is no surprise to me, Haytham Kenway. Even your own son cannot find it within himself to show you sympathy.”

Achilles leaned on his walking cane. “He has become _my_ boy truly – you know as well as I do that he will not hesitate to end your wretched life after we have gotten what we need.” He shook his head again. “Well, I suppose, he will regret it, one day. But I will be there – telling him to hold onto that regret and use it as a guide. I do not burden him lightly, but your death will enable him to become the Assassin he is meant to be. Only when you are gone, I think he will reach a point of no return. He will have sacrificed too much to turn back.”

Haytham smiled. He had heard such words before. His unwavering stare was briefly caught by a movement behind Achilles – catching a glimpse of Connor ducking back into the dark of the hallway. “My blood on Connor’s hands will thus be _your_ doing, old man.”, Haytham said; teeth bared.

“Oh, I would hope so.” Achilles sighed. “After yesterday, I have no doubt that he has seen your true colours.”

Haytham remained silent. What did Achilles know about yesterday’s memory?

“While he begged to be taken out of it – I think it is important for him to see what you are capable of.”

A sardonic smile found its way onto Haytham’s lips. “Yes, indeed. I did not think he would tell you what terrible things he witnessed me do yesterday?”

Achilles scoffed. “He did not have to. It was _entirely_ clear to me what he was seeing when he asked to be taken out – he has never been good at hiding his emotions. I had to remind Liam that perhaps it is educational for Connor to see who his father really is, even if it is painful to bear witness to your many cruelties. If there was ever any doubt on his mind - surely, it has been erased by the pain he has seen you cause.”

“So - you made Liam ignore Connor's begs to be taken out of the memory. Because you knew that he was watching me do unbearable things.” Haytham recapitulated, but then changed the topic before Achilles could reply. “Connor – that name; it is your doing, isn’t it? I never understood how you could name him after your dead son, but I do now. As you said – you have _made_ him your own. You let him be hurt because you think that pain will make him better at his work. Well, my own mentor would have agreed with your methods.”

“You do not know anything of my relationship with Connor, Templar. You have never been a father to him. And one day, long after you are gone, Connor will understand what I have done for him.”, Achilles said with dismay; turning around to leave.

“Is that all you came down here for? To tell me you will have my son kill me once you decide I am of no use anymore, no matter whether Ratonhnhaké:ton will forever regret it?”

Achilles stopped but did not turn around. “I came down to remind myself why I have to resort to such measures. And you have not disappointed in reminding me, Grand Master.”

The session commenced a short while after Achilles had left. Liam and Connor emerged mutely at the same time, and no word was exchanged about the Assassin mentor’s visit to the basement. But Haytham knew that Connor had heard most of their conversation, if not all. And more than ever, the Grand Master believed Achilles to be wrong - if anything, Connor had more doubts about killing his father than before.

**2002 - Four Seasons, New York City, USA**

Haytham poured himself another glass of champagne.

Standing by the large window, he looked at the lights of the city and sipped the expensive beverage. It wasn’t his first glass, and he planned on it not being his last, either. There was security outside of the hotel room, and he felt safe enough to let go for tonight. It was a celebration, after all.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts, and Haytham briefly glanced at his wristwatch. Right on time. After he had downed the rest of the champagne in his glass, he opened the door. A young man was waiting in front of it – the person Haytham had expected. He stepped aside and gestured for the other to come in. He watched the younger man enter – regarding him closely. He was just slightly younger than Haytham; a slender but muscular build, dark hair, dark eyes and beautiful, bronze skin. His online pictures did not do him justice – he looked evn more gorgeous in person, Haytham thought to himself.

Haytham sat down on the comfortable couch and patted the space next to him for the other to join him. The younger man took off his jacket, put down the backpack he had been carrying, and then sat down next to Haytham; dark eyes looking the older man over carefully.

“I know your face.”, he said; reaching out to brush his fingers along Haytham’s cheek. “Are you famous?”

A crooked smile flashed over Haytham’s lips, and he patted his lap for the younger man to come closer. “I reckon that depends on your definition. You might have seen me on TV or on the news. But I’d say, rather than famous, I am powerful.”

The younger man raised an eyebrow; clearly rather intrigued by that answer. He complied with Haytham’s invitation, and shifted onto the other’s lap. “I’m Káhi. What’s your name tonight?”

Haytham briefly thought about it, then replied, “Haytham.”

The other nodded; his hands coming up to brush along the older man’s face – as if to map it out. “Am I your type, Haytham?”

A mild smile adorned Haytham's lips briefly. “Yes. I knew I wanted it to be you when I saw your profile.”

Káhi seemed pleased and nodded. “You’re my type, too, and I don’t just say that ’cause you paid for my company.”

Haytham allowed his amusement to show, and proceeded to run his hands over the younger man’s slender frame. “Well, I am pleased to hear that, Káhi.”

“Are we celebrating somethin’?”, Káhi asked with a glance at the champagne.

“I got promoted.”, Haytham said; his expression wistful. Today was perhaps a day he felt particularly lonely. It was a celebratory occasion – Birch had retreated to his French mansion, and Haytham had seized power both within the Rite and the company. As of today, he was CEO and Grand Master. Parts of Birch’s estates around the world were his’ now, and the bunker was scheduled to be demolished within the week. It was a triumph – for the interest of the crumbling Order, and the interest of the company that had teetered on the verge of a corruption scandal.

But there was no one close to celebrate with. It were days like this when he missed Ziio or even James – the few people he had ever felt close to. There would be a celebration with Johnson, Munro and the others who had helped him dethrone old Birch. But even with them, Haytham remained professional; as much as he relied on them and would call them his friends, he had shared little with them about his personal history with Birch.

“Well, how are we goin’ to celebrate tonight, Haytham?” Káhi’s fingers ran through the other’s hair, and wandered down – brushing over Haytham’s slightly opened shirt and playing with the buttons that were not yet undone. “I’m into whatever you’re into.”

Haytham’s hands came to rest on the other’s hip and he met Káhi’s gaze. “I’ll be in charge.”, Haytham said; his bright eyes steely. “I’ll cuff you to the bed, and have my way with you.”

Káhi raised his eyebrows; briefly considering the older man’s words. “Sure. I have some things with me.”

Haytham was well aware that his helplessness down in the bunker had led to his proclivity of taking charge in any sexual encounter. He had tried being the bottom occasionally, but it had been… he hadn’t been able to relax; his heartbeat increasing, blood rushing in his ears. Even a decade later, he couldn’t stop his body from trembling when he was put in a remotely similar situation - a lump in his throat, and James’ name on his lips.

The younger man seemed to think of something and grinned. “May I call you Daddy?”, he asked; dark eyes pleasantly mischievous.

Haytham was snapped out of his dark considerations. With a hint of doubt audible in is voice, he replied, “I am barely older than you, if your profile is indeed correct.”

“But you’re tall, muscular and authoritative.”

“I take it you’d enjoy calling me that?” Haytham ran his hand over the other’s slim waist and appreciated the younger man’s beauty.

“Absolutely.”

“Call me what you please, then.”

They retreated to the bedroom, where Káhi produced some handcuffs from his backpack. Haytham briefly glanced over them – they were easy to undo, and probably something to make the younger man feel safer. Haytham left it uncommented – perfectly capable of understanding why the young man would prefer using these and retain a degree of power over his situation.

“I have some toys and the like in there, too, if you want anythin’. I can explain if somethin’ strikes your fancy but you don't know how to use it.”, Káhi said as he moved onto the bed and gestured towards his backpack.

Haytham toyed with the cuffs in his hands and approached the bed. “Are you prepared?”, he asked.

Káhi was about to pull off his shirt but then reconsidered. “You wantin’ me to take this off? And yeah, ’course – I’m all clean and stretched, ready for your cock – _Daddy.”_

Raising his eyebrows, Haytham wondered whether or not he liked or disliked that particular appellation. “Take it all off.”, he said; standing next to the bed and watching Káhi do as he had asked him to.

The younger man undressed slowly – clearly pleased to have such an attentive speculator. “I have several sizes of condoms in there, too. Guess you know what you need? Latex-free, too.”, he added as he undid his pants and pulled them off. “Want me on my belly?”

“No, lie on your back.”

Káhi was naked now; sprawled across the large hotel bed. Haytham leaned over him and cuffed his hands to the bedposts. His fingers brushed over the other’s slender frame – admiring the other’s slim, muscular body, and the shimmering bronze skin. He pressed a few appreciative kisses to the younger man’s neck and chest; eventually moving down further. Haytham realized that the other was wearing a plug – doubtlessly to keep himself stretched and ready. Haytham nudged it and enjoyed the soft gasp he could provoke in response. With a soft smirk adorning his lips, Haytham moved upwards again; catching the other’s lips in a kiss as his fingers kept playing with the toy.

The kiss started as a slow, appreciative gesture – a sort of attentive moment to forge a connection they could enjoy further over the course of the evening. Káhi gave soft sounds of pleasure as Haytham teased him further; their kiss mingled with these gentle noises.

“If you fuck me as well as you kiss me…”, Káhi muttered as they briefly broke apart; his dark eyes wanton and delighted.

Amusement sparkled in Haytham’s bright eyes as he met the younger man’s gaze. “You have my word I will.”

“Mh, good; take care of me, Daddy…”

**2019**

The memory disintegrated rapidly, and Haytham found himself back in the present. His heart was beating a little quicker – shifting slightly as he waited for the headpiece to be taken off by Liam.

“Sorry – we need to power down for a moment; there’s a problem with the cooling – I think it’s connected to us keeping you in so long yesterday.”, Liam said with a sigh of irritation. “Did you manage to get something?”

Haytham glanced over at Connor once he could. The young man’s face was reddened, and the Grand Master believed to see a hint of a certain reaction to the memory they had just spent time in. Connor hadn’t interrupted the flow, though, surely, he could not have possibly believed this to be connected to their mission.

“N-no.”, Connor stuttered; sitting up properly and running a hand over his face. “I mean – I thought I could, but we didn’t get to the right point. It was a… a _meeting,_ but we never got to the… main part…”

The young Assassin glanced up and met his father’s stare. The blush on his cheeks intensified, and he muttered in Liam’s direction. “I’ll rest while you fix it – maybe I can get back to where we left off and find what we need.” He held Haytham’s gaze, and the Grand Master raised his eyebrows – his expression both knowing and quizzical.

Then he understood, and his bright eyes widened. There was not just embarrassment in Connor's dark eyes. There was a sort of yearning that Haytham had not seen in a long while - something hurt, desperate and yet, deeply affectionate. It was the yearning to find an embrace that would make the horrors of the bunker feel distant; the yearning to find someone to escape these memories with. Haytham knew this gaze. He had seen it in the mirror before.


	7. Time is Running out

The next part of their session took place a few hours later. Connor had disappeared for a while; claiming that he needed to _rest_ , though Haytham wondered what he was really up to. He understood parts of Connor’s reactions to what he had seen and experienced through his father’s eyes, and the Grand Master almost wished that they had a quiet moment to discuss some of these things. But for now, there was no chance – not with Liam around.

When Connor was brought back after the Animus seemed fixed, he avoided Haytham’s gaze and wordlessly returned to his place in the modified Animus.

**2010 – Haytham’s apartment, New York City, USA**

With a silent groan, Haytham got up from the couch.

His gunshot wound on his stomach had healed mostly, but he still needed to take things easy - something he was not very good at. But it had been the only way to convince the doctors to let him leave the hospital - the promise to _take it easy_ for a while. It would be good to have Shay around for tonight – his thoughts had been… distracted lately; distracted by the many ramifications of what had happened. And with _taking it easy_ , he lacked the many distractions that work usually offered.

The Irishman stepped into Haytham’s apartment mutely after the CEO had opened the door. It was evening, and Haytham hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. It was dim in his apartment; the rooms only illuminated by the lights from outside.

“How are you, Sir?”, Shay asked softly as Haytham led him to the living room, where he sagged back onto the couch. The Grand Master shrugged in response; his bright eyes defiant.

Shay sat down next to him and placed a hand on Haytham’s shoulder. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe you should stay in the hospital for a while longer, Haytham.”

The CEO glanced at him; a stubborn expression briefly flashing over his face. “I’m fine.”, he snapped. “I do not need to be coddled. This is neither the first nor the last time I got shot, mind you.”

The other sighed. “I am painfully aware of that, truly. But it was a close call, we both know that.”

“I did what was _necessary,_ and I am ready to give me life for it if that’s what it takes.”

Shay shook his head; his voice urgent. “Haytham, _please.”_

“Please _what?”_

“You know I would’ve been there if only you had –”

With a scoff, Haytham straightened, though instantly regretted the movement. “Had _what?_ If I had called onto your loyalty _to my cause_ to solve my personal problems?”

“It’s not just your cause I am loyal to, Haytham.”, Shay said quietly; his eyes locked with Haytham’s.

The Grand Master stared at him.

“You know I do not follow blindly. But if I see a good man, I will do my best to help – both for his cause, and in his life.” Shay’s hand brushed along Haytham’s shoulder, and the CEO’s eyes followed that movement.

“I had to handle it myself.”, Haytham muttered in defeat; his bright eyes trailing up and meeting the younger man’s gaze.

“Why now? You could have killed him eight years ago.”, Shay asked gently; his gaze locked with the other’s, and his fingers still brushing along the Grand Master’s frame. “Was he trying to take over again?”

Haytham scoffed again; a hand coming up to stop Shay’s fingers brushing along his arm. “He never _stopped_ trying to get back into power.” His expression darkened. “I _should have_ killed him eight years ago, but I was weak.”, he added almost inaudibly; his voice bitter.

Shay shifted closer; hesitantly, he reached out to brush a dark strand of hair from Haytham’s face. “Weak? Never.”

But Haytham leaned out of the touch and shook his head. “I did not kill Reginald Birch, Shay.”

The Irishman’s motion stilled and a frown appeared on his face.

Haytham’s bright eyes met the other’s questioning stare briefly. “Yes, it’s the official story, and if any of his goons dream of revenge, they will come for me.”, Haytham said quietly. “But I didn’t kill him.”

There were many questions visible in Shay’s gaze, but he remained silent. His fingers brushed along Haytham’s cheek, and he waited for the older man to continue.

With a hint of unwillingness, Haytham spoke up again. “I found out about something that he did, which is why I went to see him.”

“What did he do?” Shay asked quietly.

Haytham held the other’s gaze. He trusted Shay. Maybe more than he should – given the other’s history. Some had doubted their new recruit’s loyalty, but Haytham understood what Director Munro had seen in the former Assassin. He was a fierce, righteous man, who would follow his own path in the pursuit of justice. There was an urge to tell Shay the truth - not all of it, but enough. With a sigh, Haytham gave into that urge for the first time in a long while speaking about these things.

“He had my father killed, sold my teenage sister into prostitution, raised me in the belief my father was a Templar, in whose footsteps I was meant to follow, and convinced my mother I was a monster.”, Haytham said quietly. His voice was rough yet calm; his expression stony. Of course, there was much more - the years in total isolation, surveillance, physical, verbal and psychological abuse… But that wasn't something Haytham thought he could ever speak about. “He was a corrupt and sadistic Grand Master, betraying the cause in his selfish greed and his pleasure in cruelty. I should have killed him for that, but I chose to have him exiled instead - having to watch how I build my empire from the ruins he left.” Haytham bared his teeth. “But when I found my sister, and heard her story… we decided to go to France to confront the old bastard.”

“Is she the one who killed him?”

Haytham averted his eyes. “He wasn’t the one who shot me, either.”, he replied; choosing not to answer Shay's question.

“Haytham. Let me help.”

The Grand Master shook his head; then he glanced back at the Irishman. “I deserved it.”, he said quietly. “The person who shot me was someone I kidnapped for Birch many years ago. I did not know they were still alive, and when I freed them…” His expression remained dark. “I do not blame them.”

Shay’s gaze was intense, and Haytham allowed himself to stare back into those expressive eyes. The younger man moved closer, and the CEO allowed it. Perhaps, Haytham thought to himself, he _shouldn’t_ allow this. But he closed the gap between them regardless; closing his eyes and wrapping an arm around the Irishman’s broad frame. Their kiss was passionate from the start; fuelled by the spoken and unspoken words between them. It wasn’t the first kiss they shared, though Haytham had been hesitant about those before. And yet – this closeness felt safe; like it could soothe the ache from those distant and not-so-distant pains.

“You did not deserve any of that.”, Shay muttered; pulling away just enough to speak. He quieted Haytham's potential response with a gentle kiss; his hand cupping the older man's cheek.

Only moments later, they were even more closely entangled – Shay shifting into Haytham’s lap; mindful of the older man’s injury, but eager for this intimacy.

“Shay…”, Haytham brought out into their kiss; his voice doubtful and hesitant.

The younger man shushed him. “You don’t need to say anything. I know. No strings attached. We both want it tonight, and that’s enough, isn’t it?”

It was true - this couldn’t be something serious; something official or exclusive. Haytham had decided for himself never to fall in love again. Sex was fine, but no further emotional entanglements. He had seen Káhi for a while – enjoying the professionalism and the knowledge that there were no further expectations he would have to try and fulfil. But then… the younger escort had asked him to date – confessing that he had a crush on him and wanted more. Haytham had stopped seeing him then. He couldn’t be that person for anyone.

Shay brought what they needed from Haytham’s bedroom – having the CEO stay where he was in order to lessen the strain on his mostly healed injury. The Irishman undressed for him – showing off his muscular physique, and the collection of scars that Haytham could compare to his own. If Shay was self-conscious about the scar on his face, he never let it show, and Haytham did not mind. He had too many himself to judge.

The other returned to his lap, and enveloped Haytham's arousal with skilled fingers - stroking him gently and spreading lube along his cock after he had put on the condom. Their lips were locked in another blissful kiss, and Haytham gasped in delight as he felt the younger man shift closer and slowly eased himself down onto Haytham's cock. Their union was slow and steady; mainly owed to Haytham's injury. The CEO bucked up into Shay’s body as much as he could without straining the wound; hands resting on the other's hips and their lips still locked in a breathless kiss. The heat and tightness around him was intoxicating, and the affectionate, trusting embrace helped to wash away the memories of facing Birch again after all those years – and still freezing like a child in terror when the older man told him that he was _disloyal scum; a fucking faggot,_ and _deserved_ to be –

“Haytham - _Ah,_ like this- _Yes_ -”

**2019**

“Ah, for fuck’s sake –”

“Why are we stopping?” Connor’s voice was breathless – Haytham couldn’t see him just yet, but the tone sent an odd shudder down his spine.

“I don’t know, but – I thought I _fixed_ this, but – Fuck. I think I need to take this upstairs. Better we continue tomorrow.”

The headpiece was removed from Haytham’s view, and he glanced over to Connor, who was getting up from the Animus and seemingly made a point of not looking over at his father.

“Connor. A word?”, Achilles' voice sounded, and all three of them turned their heads to see the mentor standing in the doorframe.

“Yes, Sir.”, the young man muttered, and followed Achilles.

Haytham remained where he had been trapped for days now, though he tried to shift slightly; wondering what Connor was talking to Achilles about. That Haytham had fucked his former novice? He wasn't sure if that was really a secret. Even Chevalier had known that he was _fond_ of Shay. His heart ached at that memory – him and Shay had worked out for a long while. Mainly because the Irishman had been so damn patient with him. No strings attached – but _fuck,_ Shay had loved him. And Haytham could have loved him back, if only he had let himself. But now it was too late – Shay was leading several projects in Europe, and while they talked through the internet often, Haytham knew that the other had a boyfriend of two years now. Which was… Haytham was happy for him.

Liam busied himself with something at the Animus while Connor was gone; potentially readying the machine for another run. Haytham wondered if he was displeased with Achilles, who had practically caused the malfunctioning by having kept Connor in for so long the other day – ignoring the young man’s pleas to be taken out.

Accessing and simulating the memories of a living source surely required a vast amount of energy and Haytham wasn’t surprised the machine wasn’t running as smoothly as the Assassins wished for. And who knew about the side effects of such untested tech… Perhaps the first signs of the Bleeding Effect were part of that – how else could Haytham explain Connor lying to his superiors or… staying in a memory he surely would have opted out of just a few days ago.

Haytham glanced at Liam and met the other’s gaze.

Raising an eyebrow, the Grand Master remarked, “We just met your brother in all but blood in my memories - quite a few years ago by now. I'm sure you still remember him very well regardless? I am wondering - does Connor know the whole story about why Shay left?”

Liam clenched his jaw and returned his gaze back to whatever he was working on in front of him. “Don’t make me gag you.”, he muttered.

“Are you not concerned Achilles will push him just like Shay? They're not so different, are they. I think Connor has the same strong moral compass, though he hasn’t been through the same trauma that made your brother rethink-”

“I warned you.”, Liam snapped; rummaging around with anger-hastened movements.

“He still talks about you sometimes.”, Haytham continued calmly, even as Liam approached him with something in his hand. “It is very clear to me that he still believes that you are a good man, and will make the right choice eventu– _mhhph.”_

A piece of tape was firmly placed over Haytham’s mouth, and the Grand Master stared up at the Irishman with dismay. And yet, Haytham was pleased by what he saw – there was confliction and upheaval in Liam’s eyes. Indeed, what Haytham had told him stirred something that was already boiling inside of him.

* * *

After Liam had finished whatever he had done, he left without further ado – neither removing the tape from Haytham's mouth, nor saying anything more. He switched off the lights, and left the Grand Master in almost pure darkness – there was a small light emanating from the Animus, but otherwise, the old room was pitchblack. Haytham tried to take the tape off himself, but his restraints were currently too short for him to reach up to his face. He hoped that perhaps Connor would come downstairs again – there was much to talk about, after all. Haytham sighed. He doubted that Connor would kill him willingly after all of this, but he needed more time with the young man – he needed to find a way to escape or alert his men.

Haytham drifted off to sleep after hours of nothingness. It was difficult to keep the memories at bay – of course, memories of Shay were fine on their own, but the past days had opened up jars of horror that Haytham had believed long lost and never to be dealt with again. He was hungry and thirsty, and had been lying in the same position for most of several days. These hours by himself were thus mainly spent meditating or trying to hatch a decent plan to convince Connor to help him escape.

At some point during what Haytham presumed was the late evening or perhaps night, Connor returned. The Grand Master already suspected it was his son when he heard the faint steps, though the dim lighting didn’t allow him to recognize the other for certain until he was approaching Haytham’s Animus.

Immediately when Haytham saw him, the Templar could tell that Connor wasn’t in his right mind – his face was flushed from alcohol, and his expression was a desperate, yearning determination that did not bide well.

Haytham waited for Connor to remove the tape so they could talk, but either the young man hadn’t seen it, or he was too inebriated to really process why that might be a good idea.

The young man stood by his side for a moment; bowing his head and apparently trying to decide what he came here to do or say. Maybe, so Haytham hoped, he would explain what the hell was going on with him – why he had lied to his Brothers and Sisters, and why he hadn’t interrupted those rather private memories when he had the chance. Or maybe he would elaborate on his claim that Haytham could make it out of here alive - because, clearly, Achilles had different plans, and of that Connor now knew - or maybe this had changed in the talk Achilles and Connor had had today?

But once more, Haytham’s expectations were entirely proven wrong when Connor wordlessly shifted onto the Animus and on top of his father. Haytham stiffened; unsure what was happening and whether or not Connor had been pushed into killing him already; despite no new information emerging in regards to the Piece of Eden. However, the young man just wrapped his arms around the older man’s broad frame and buried his face in Haytham’s shoulder.

The Grand Master mumbled something against the tape; hoping that Connor would remove it still. He couldn’t even reach up – his restraints were not as loose as last time, and he could barely raise his hands and feet from the surface to which they were tied.

Haytham could smell the alcohol on the other – wondering what had happened. Was it something Achilles had said or done? Connor didn’t seem like he was much of a drinker in general… but then it occurred to Haytham that maybe the events of the past days would prompt unusual ways of coping, and perhaps this was what had happened. If only he could actually say someth-

Haytham startled when he could feel the other’s lips brush against his neck. _“Mh-nhhmn?”_ Haytham squirmed slightly, but Connor didn’t shift away.

The young man’s breath waved hotly over his neck, and a hesitant kiss was pressed against the older man’s pale skin. Haytham shuddered – ripping at his restraints and trying to figure out how to reach the young man. What was Connor thinking he was doing? What the hell was going on with him?

“Haytham…”, the young man muttered; the next kiss against his father’s skin being more knowing – demanding, perhaps. But his voice was… It reminded Haytham of that expression in Connor’s eyes after the first session this day – desperate for affection; yearning for an embrace that would help him heal.

Was Connor thinking that this would somehow help him cope with those traumatic glimpses of possibly the worst experience Haytham had ever been through? The Templar wanted to tell the other that this wasn’t it – this wouldn’t help. At least – not like this. Not with him – for heaven’s sake, not with him. He was the enemy; a prisoner; currently unable to consent even – and, certainly the most striking point in this whole chaotic mess – he was Connor’s father. Maybe it was the Bleeding Effect or the alcohol, or both, but Connor couldn't be thinking clearly.

Haytham could feel the young man’s hand fumble with the buttons of his shirt; and despite his muted protesting, he could feel how the other started to undo button by button. Connor continued to press kisses to his father’s throat – slowly wandering down further while his fingers brushed over the older man’s scarred chest.

A soft sound was hiccupped against his skin, and another shiver ran through the older man – realizing that Connor was pleasuring himself. The young man pressed against him; one hand curled into Haytham’s opened shirt. Connor’s flushed face was pressed against Haytham’s taut pecs; and the Grand Master stared down at the other's dark thatch in confusion and disbelief – what the hell was going on?

_“Hnn- Daddy-”_

Warmth spilled over Haytham’s stomach, and Connor sagged; his breath waving over his father’s chest hotly and in ragged little waves. The Grand Master’s heart was beating heavily in his chest; knowing that all of this was _bad_ – for many layers of reasons. And yet…

Connor pulled away shakily; his glazed eyes warm and wanton. He shifted backwards a little; starting to work on his father’s pants – clearly thinking this would go further, though Haytham was in utter disbelief as to where his son was thinking this was heading. Connor would regret this…

Unable to communicate any other way, Haytham raised his head as much as he could and banged it back against the Animus’ surface. Stars danced in front of his eyes, and the thudding noise seemed loud in his ears.

Indeed, Connor froze; his gaze confused as he lifted his eyes and met Haytham’s stare.

There were many emotions bubbling up in the young Assassin's heart that moment – and they were all entirely palpable in the young man’s stare. Haytham could almost see the moment of understanding – seeing his father beneath him; tied to the Animus, his clothing undone, come on his scarred chest, and his mouth taped shut.

Connor paled; withdrawing in what seemed like horror – horror of what he seemingly had subjected someone to; someone who he knew had suffered through assault before. He slipped off of the Animus in a state of shock; muttering nonsensical phrases that sounded apologetic and confused but made no sense. Haytham knew that he couldn’t let the young man leave like that – but with the tape over his mouth he couldn’t call out for Connor to stay – to talk. He hoped the other would turn around – remove the tape and talk to him – but Connor stumbled back into the darkness; a soft sob was all that Haytham could really hear before it was quiet again.

Haytham groaned; straining against the restraints in a desperate attempt to run after his son and tell him that he was alright – that he would be fine; that there wasn’t something wrong with him, and that he would find what he needed to get through what he had experienced in traumatic glimpses.

When steps sounded quietly in the hallway, Haytham briefly wondered if it was Connor who came back to talk about what had happened – but the Grand Master could quickly tell that it was someone else.

Chevalier emerged from the darkness; barely recognizable in the dim light.

His one arm was in a bandage, and his face was bruised where Haytham had headbutted him. The Frenchman approached him and briefly hesitated when he recognized in what disarray their prisoner was.

“Look at the almighty Grand Master now…”, the Frenchman muttered gleefully. “Someone really did a number on you. Was it Connor? Didn’t think he would have the balls to humiliate you like that, the little pussy. What? Did he give you back the only thing you ever contributed to his life; cum?”

Haytham stared up at the other with fury; acutely aware that he could not even return the other’s spite through verbal means. Whatever had prompted the Frenchman to come down here, it did not mean anything good, of that Haytham was sure.

“You must know that your time is running out here, bastard. They are celebrating the success – and tomorrow, we’ll set out to find the Apple.” Chevalier smacked his lips. “Now that we know, there won’t be much use for you, Templar. I’ll have my way with you, Achilles surely won’t stop me.”

Haytham wasn’t sure what he was talking about – there had been no information whatsoever on the Piece of Eden’s location in any of these memories – the only time it had come up, Connor had interrupted the flow and never learned about the Apple’s initial discovery. However, a sort of celebration would perhaps explain Connor’s inebriated state, and Chevalier’s desire to come and gloat.

The Grand Master was snapped from his thoughts when the Frenchman moved – with one hand, he undid the fly from his pants, and Haytham froze. _What the-?_

“Here – I feel inspired. And once we have the Apple, I’m sure there are more ways to show you your place, Grand Master.”, Chevalier sneered; starting to stroke himself.

Haytham averted his gaze and closed his eyes; trying to shift away his face, but he had not much room to move.

“Thinking of how I’ll kill all of you.”, Chevalier said breathily. “That Irish traitor – then you. Maybe I can make you watch what happens to disloyal scum. Maybe I’ll let Connor help me, he seems to have his head in the game, _finally._ The old man somehow really gets off on the idea of Connor killing you, but I’d rather it be me. And when I’m mentor –” He groaned, and Haytham flinched when warm wetness spilled across his face.

A shudder of disgust ran through him, and anger made it difficult to think. He opened his eyes; his gaze piercing and furious as he stared up at the Frenchman.

“And when I’m mentor, I’ll make your son the best Templar killer there ever was – aside from myself, of course.”

Chevalier closed his pants and stared at the Grand Master; a pleased expression on his face. “Look at you now. Pathetic. Wish I could’ve seen your face when you found out your Dad was an Assassin all along. How does it feel? Knowing your Daddy would’ve hated you, your son hates you –”

A gargling sound disrupted his words, and blood started gushing over his lips. Haytham could spot a brief glisten of metal withdrawing from Chevalier’s neck. The Frenchman reached up to his throat; staggering. Blood dribbled onto Haytham’s face as Chevalier desperately clawed at his neck with his uninjured hand; helpless, half-strangled sounds leaving his lips. Then he collapsed and vanished from Haytham’s view, though the sounds continued to echo quietly in the large room.

Haytham half-expected one of his men standing there; vaguely hoping they had spared Connor on their way down here – but –

There was Connor; his hidden blade still extended from his wrist. He was trembling; his dark eyes wide and reddened from crying; his expression both angry and overwhelmed.


	8. So Hard to Say Goodbye

**2019 – Unknown Location**

Haytham could see how Connor was struggling to process the ramifications of his actions – struggling to figure out what to do next, or, perhaps, what he _had_ done.

Trying to get the other’s attention through muffled sounds, Haytham struggled against the restraints – a hint of sincere panic poking hotly at his insides. It had been lurking close in the past hours and days – the helplessness of the situation being maddening, but the escalation over the past few hours gave the panic some more power to try and suffuse him.

To Haytham’s relief, Connor reacted to his faint, attention-seeking sounds and movements; his dark eyes slowly focusing on Haytham again. The young mansnapped out of his thoughts and gasped. He stumbled closer – having to step over Chevalier’s body on the floor; his gaze only briefly dropping down to look at the Frenchman, whose gargling sounds were slowly ceasing to echo in the cold room.

Connor reached out with trembling fingers – clearly unsure what to do first. Just using his sleeve, he slowly started to wipe blood and come from Haytham’s face, his dark eyes large and displaying shock clearly. There was also still a glaze of alcohol, though Haytham hoped he was sobering up a bit and would pull himself together enough to execute the rushed plan Haytham had come up with - ideally, before any other people discovered what had happened to Chevalier.

There was no point in what Connor was doing – he was just smearing blood over his father’s face, and Haytham wished he would finally pull off that piece of tape that was hindering his only way of exerting power and influence, restrained as he was.

“I…”, Connor started; his voice quiet and trembling. “I k-killed Birch?”

Haytham stopped his faint struggling and stared up at his son. Slowly, he shook his head, unsure if Connor would grasp his response.

The young man looked at him in confusion – glancing down at Chevalier and back at his father. “I-I’m sorry. I… I didn’t m-mean to…”

It was unclear what exactly he was referring to – killing the Frenchman, or… trying to sleep with his father before that. Or, perhaps, the fact that he was responsible for having gotten them into this situation in the first place by helping to kidnap the Grand Master. To Haytham it was becoming increasingly obvious that Connor was affected not only by alcohol, but a different sort of Bleeding Effect that seemed worse than what should be expected; or at least more disorienting; perhaps owed to the Animus’ modification to work on a living person as the source of memories.

Surely, Connor’s odd sexual advances were _entirely_ owed to that, too – having lived through rather personal experiences from his father’s past – and Haytham was glad he had managed to stop him before he had pushed things too far; before he did something he would regret.

Chevalier’s death, however satisfying Haytham found it on a personal level, was a different kind of troubled impulse Connor had given in to, and they really needed to come up with an explanation as to what had happened.

Finally, Connor started fumbling with the edge of the tape, and pulled it off slowly. Haytham stiffened at the uncomfortable sensation and grimaced once the tape was off – wanting to say many things, really, but time was not on their side to discuss the more personal and emotional entanglements that had arisen this night. Or the reason why Connor had worn his hidden blade in the first place – he hadn’t had it earlier, of that Haytham was sure.

“Untie me.”, Haytham commanded. “Give me your hidden blade. You will tell them Chevalier untied me for some unknown reason and I attacked him. That’s when you came into the room and tried to help your fellow Assassin. But I overpowered you and killed Chevalier with your weapon – knocking you out instead of killing you because you are still my son.”

Connor stared at him and Haytham started to wonder if the other had processed _any_ of what he had just said. _“Connor._ We don’t have time. _Untie me.”,_ Haytham said with impatience; ripping at his restraints. “Do as I say, for heaven’s sake!”

But the young man hesitated still; trembling ever so slightly and his dark eyes large like a deer caught in the headlights. Subconsciously, he had started to fidget with his hands; his whole demeanour letting him appear much younger and more timid than Haytham knew he was.

“I am not going to kill you, do you understand me? If that’s your concern – shake it off. You know they need to think _I_ killed him. And believe me, I would’ve – so untie me already!”

“No.” Connor’s voice was quiet, and a slight frown appeared on his features; though his gaze seemed to clear up visibly.

Haytham groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Connor.”, he muttered under his breath; frustration rising. _“You_ were the one to tell me there was a way for me to make it out of here alive. This is said way – the best option for both of us, don’t you see that?”

Connor moved closer; his expression growing more determined. “No, I mean –”, he started. “I’m coming with you.”

Haytham couldn’t help the brief flash of irritation appearing on his face. “What?”

“They will know I helped you.”, the young man muttered; starting to pry off parts of Haytham's restraints with the help of his hidden blade. “I know what happened with Shay – Liam told me. If I stay – they will want to make sure I won’t betray them again.”

“You haven’t betrayed them, Connor – not yet.”

“But I have.”, the young man muttered; breaking free one of Haytham’s wrists and starting to work on the restraints on the other. “I told them I know where the Apple is. I told them I saw it.”

Haytham grimaced. “Why the fuck would you do that? That’s not a smart move – Chevalier said you’d go out to look for it tomorrow, and then already, they’d figure out your lie and then they will trust you even less.”

Connor shook his head. “I was going to get you out before then.”, he muttered.

Haytham sighed quietly; wiping off remainders of blood and come from his face with the back of his hand, though he knew it didn’t make much of a difference. At least he now knew why Connor was wearing his hidden blade – getting drunk, however, didn’t seem particularly smart on the evening of a breakout.

“You’re confused, Connor.”, Haytham said carefully; rubbing his wrists as Connor freed his other hand. The Grand Master watched the young man move on to free his feet, too, and Haytham started to button up his shirt again – wondering if the young man was really aware that he had been the one undoing it. Connor had seemed quite out of it – he was clearer, now, but to Haytham it was still entirely obvious that the young man wasn’t stable and his actions were rather unpredictable. He was a liability if Haytham wanted to make it out of here in one piece.

“Maybe.”, the young man muttered. His expression was stubborn while he was working to open the last bits of Haytham’s restraints. “But I’m gonna come with you. You didn’t leave Shay with them, why would you leave _me_ behind?”

He glanced up at his father, and Haytham was once more struck by the honest display of emotions in the young man’s dark eyes – Connor really couldn’t hide his feelings all too well, and in a way, Haytham found it an admirable quality; perhaps not a very useful one in their line of work. The Grand Master could see despair and hope; and a sort of affection Haytham couldn't quite understand.

“You know that was different. You’ll regret this, Connor. Think about it – returning won’t be possible.”

“You told me once you would want me by your side.”, Connor muttered; briefly glancing back at the restraints as it popped open and Haytham was free to get out of the Animus.

It was true – they had worked together on a few projects during the truce, and Haytham had expressed his wish for Connor to join his cause – which, of course, the young man had rebuked instantaneously back then.

“But not like this. You don't know what you want, boy, and I will not-”

“I know what I want!”, Connor snapped; retracting his hidden blade and straightening. “I want to leave with you. I got you into this, and I’ll make sure you’ll make it out of here.”

Haytham sighed; swinging his legs over the edge of the Animus and stretching carefully. His body was aching after the days of being strapped into the Animus in more or less one position – dehydration, hunger, and emotional turmoils adding to the exhaustion that tugged at him. “Fine.”, he lied; glancing down at Chevalier’s motionless body and the puddle of blood radiating out from under him. He shifted off of the Animus and bent down to search the body for anything useful – settling on a gun to take with him.

“How do we get out of here, then? We’re quite far out, so I hope there are vehicles we can use?”

Connor nodded; his expression determined. “Most are asleep after the celebration, though there are always guards at the entrance. But they’re on the lookout for your men, so we should be able to overpower them from behind.”

“Well, let me handle that.”

“Promise you won’t kill them.”

Haytham raised an eyebrow. “I will do what it takes to get out of here, boy. Either you tag along and stay out of my way, or you stay behind right away.”

Connor clenched his jaw; clearly conflicted about the prospect of not only helping Haytham escape, but of directly going against his friends and colleagues in the process. “Try not to harm them, please.”, he muttered; his gaze averted as he gestured for Haytham to follow him.

As soon as he had turned his back towards his father, Haytham moved forwards quickly and wrapped an arm around the other’s neck; pulling him close to his own body. Connor’s surprise and inebriation delayed his response, and that was enough for Haytham to lock him in a chokehold quickly - it was a knowing move; a sleeper choke that would not harm the young man if done right. He secured his dominant arm with his other; effectively slowing the blood supply to Connor’s brain. The young man struggled and if he had been in his right mind, he might have been able to fight off his father more effectively. But this time, he didn’t have the time – seven seconds later, he went limp in Haytham’s arms, and the Grand Master carefully eased his grip and slowly let Connor slide to the floor. Knowing that the unconsciousness wouldn’t hold for long, he took one of Connor’s arms and attached one of the restraints to the young Assassin’s wrist. Before he left, he took Connor’s hidden blade to make sure the young ma wouldn't free himself immediately.

Glancing back at the young man as he was about to leave the underground chamber, he wondered if Connor really would have wanted to come with him if he wasn’t so terribly confused. But Haytham was better off alone – he couldn’t care for this confused boy, who was a liability; slowing him down… 

It was true that part of him wanted to have the other by his side and keep him there. If these journeys through his past had reminded him of anything – then it was that the world had perhaps not burned away all the affection and care he thought he had lost long ago. He cared for Connor, more than he should. And… perhaps, he didn’t want the other in Achilles’ grip any longer. The old man’s spiteful words had reminded him of Birch – more so than Chevalier’s hostility even, because Achilles’ actions were calculated and blind to what the young man really needed or wanted. Confusion or not – Connor had grown up believing something about his father that was not true; guided by a mentor who put his own agenda above the needs of his charge.

Cursing to himself, Haytham turned around and freed Connor of his restraint just as the young man woke up.

“Fine.”, Haytham growled; sitting next to the other and holding out the hidden blade to Connor. “You’re coming with me. Don't get in my way.”

Connor blinked and straightened; rubbing his face and then taking the hidden blade from his father. If he had anything to say about Haytham rendering him unconscious, he didn’t voice it.

Haytham helped him get up, and wordlessly, they left the underground chamber.

Connor didn’t quite lead the way – perhaps more mistrusting now that Haytham had almost left him behind once. Instead, he gestured which way they had to go.

Once they had left the cellar, the Grand Master realized that it was an old estate mansion they were at – an old Homestead, of sorts. It was a good hideout, though he wondered how they had managed to get enough power to use the modified Animus out here. They couldn’t be too far out of town - who knew _which_ town.

They had made their way through a large hallway, and avoided a few Assassins socializing in a large room to their left. Now they were approaching a sort of dining hall – run-down and devoid of furniture, with just a few boxes of equipment scattered around the dirty, worn-out tile floor. There were large, mostly intact windows and doors opening up to a porch adjacent to an overgrown garden, and Haytham understood that it was where Connor wanted to sneak out of the large house. The first light was illuminating the sky dimly, and there was just enough light to find their way without a flashlight.

Quietly, they assured that the hall was empty before they snuck up to the next door. It was locked, but Connor immediately busied himself with opening it. Of course, they could simply smash the door, but in order to find a more quiet solution that would give them more time, the Grand Master agreed that picking the lock would be best. Haytham glanced around; having believed to hear steps, and nudging Connor.

“It’s almost open.”, the young man muttered under his breath, and Haytham straightened. There was no furniture to hide behind; no cupboards or nooks – Connor better got that door open in time, because otherwise, they were sitting ducks. Haytham readied the gun – just in case Connor didn’t make it in time.

“Connor, _stop.”_

It was Achilles’ voice that sounded, even before the mentor entered the room. Behind him, two Assassins Haytham didn’t know emerged; both heavily armed. The mentor himself carried a weapon, loosely pointed at them.

“You’re under his _spell,_ Connor – I know you think you are doing the right thing, but you are helping the enemy, my boy. Remember what he has _done._ Remember who you are, and the many reasons you have never sided with him.”

Slowly, Connor turned around, but Haytham could see that he was still prying at the lock behind his back. The young man’s expression was stubborn as ever, and he seemed much clearer now than before. There was, however, a sad gleam in his eyes – doubtlessly having wished to leave without facing his mentor.

“I never sided with him because I was misguided. By you.”, Connor said quietly. “Because I didn’t know the truth.”

“The truth?” Achilles furrowed his brows. “Nothing is true, Connor. Whatever he made you believe is the truth – it is not. I have raised you, because he abandoned you and your mother – I raised you after her death. Is that not true to you?”

“Not anymore.”, Connor muttered.

Achilles shook his head. “Come here, Connor. Come. We have what we need from him – you have done well, it’s over now.”

“I lied.”

Achilles raised his eyebrows. “Connor, please. These are desperate attempts-”

“It’s true. I never saw what I told you. You know what I really saw?”

Haytham side-eyed the young man; doubting it would help their situation to tell Achilles how he had slept with Shay.

“I saw Shay. I saw what you did to him. Haytham sat by his side – he was the one to save him when you tried to kill him. And for what? For questioning your ruthless orders? For trying to do the right thing? You know I would regret killing my father, and yet, you are obsessed with turning me into a weapon against him. I told you I wanted to meet him when I was a kid – but you were the one to keep me from doing it. You knew that if I had walked up to him – if I talked to him, I would have never followed your voice telling me that he must die.”

Haytham tried to hide his surprise – both at the young man’s lie about what he had seen in that last memory, as well as hearing about Connor’s wish to see his father when he had been a kid. The boy had apparently known about their familial connection before Haytham had, and it was probably true that things would have been different if they had met before their lives had led them down opposite paths.

There was anger and disappointment in Achilles’ eyes, or so Haytham thought. The Assassin mentor clenched his jaw. “You are leaving me no choice, Connor. Step aside, boy. I’d rather see him dead than let him take you away and indoctrinate you.”

The next moments were a blur in Haytham’s memory – the escalation so quick that it barely left him time to react. Achilles raised his gun and so did the Assassins behind him – shots rang in Haytham’s ears and glass exploded behind him. At the same time, Connor moved; grabbing his father and using their momentum to practically throw himself in front of the Grand Master as bullets shattered the glass door behind them.

Connor crashed against him, and Haytham stumbled backwards; taking a few shots at Achilles and his Assassins before he fell through the shattered door behind him; glass cutting into his arms and back, but he barely felt it with the adrenaline spiking through him. He thought he had hit someone, and indeed, it seemed like the Assassins had at least temporarily retreated back into the hallway – though he could hear Achilles call out for his charge; perhaps held back by the Assassins who had stood behind him. With an unpleasant thud, Haytham landed on the porch behind the door; Connor on top of him.

“Connor…?”

Haytham groaned quietly; glass digging into his back, but he reckoned he was fine aside from some cuts; some perhaps more serious than others. It was nothing that would stop him from pressing onwards. What the hell had Connor been thinking – throwing himself in front of the Templar like that –

“Connor?”, Haytham repeated with urgency; concern rising inside of him as he tried to shift from under his son’s broad frame.

The young man was breathing raggedly; shallow and quick. He was lying on top of his father and was not even attempting to move. There was wet warmth that Haytham could feel against his stomach; soaking through his shirt.

“Don’t leave me – please. Please, don’t leave me. Dad, please.”, Connor gasped breathlessly. “Please. Haytham, please… We can… make it out of this… together…”

With careful yet hastened movements, Haytham shifted from under Connor; trying to do his best not to have the other cut by the glass around them. Connor’s hoodie was torn in several places – partly because of the glass, but… Haytham counted at least two bullet holes in the back as he sat up and pulled the young man into his arms gently.

Connor stared up at him with big, dark eyes; filled with shock and anxiety. The first rays of sunlight were giving his pale features a gentle warmth. The pain hadn’t come yet, and all there was, was the fear of being left alone. “Please, don’t leave m-me…”, he repeated quietly; blood dripping from his lips. “I’m s-sorry… So sorry…”

Haytham pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead; one arm wrapped around the young man; the gun in his other hand. He could fend off the Assassins but – for what? They would save Connor’s life – they didn’t want Connor to die. Time was running out – the young man needed to get to a hospital as soon as possible. That reckless fool; if only he had…! Haytham swallowed heavily. It was just the Bleeding Effect, he told himelf. Making Connor unpredictable and confused.

For some foolish reason, tears were starting to well up in Haytham’s bright eyes – heavens, why was he crying? He knew what he had to do – to end this; to give Connor a chance. The young man wouldn’t make it if they ran away now - Haytham didn't know where they were; how to get a car and drive to the next hospital. If he just surrendered, they would continue to use Connor against him; one way or another. And even if he ran and left Connor to be tended by his fellow Assassins - they needed to concentrate their efforts on saving Connor’s life, not chasing after the Grand Master. And knowing Achilles – Haytham wasn’t so sure the other wouldn’t let his hatred for Haytham stand in the way of making the best decision for Connor.

Steps echoed on the patio - doubtlessly, more Assassins had been alerted by the shots and the shouting. Haytham raised the gun with untypically shaky fingers. “There’s no way I’m making it out of here alive, remember?”, he whispered. “But I…” Heavens, if only those tears would stop painting trails into the blood on his face. Since when was it so hard to say goodbye? “I am honoured you tried.”

_“No…!”_


	9. Means to an End

**2019 – Unknown Location**

A single shot echoed along the walls of the mansion.

“No!” Connor’s voice cut through the following silence; his bloody fingers curling into his father’s shirt as Haytham’s body slumped over him. “No… no…” The young Assassin tried to shake him awake – unable to move much with the pain slowly starting to pulse through him; blood everywhere. The older man’s embrace had faded, and Connor sobbed.

A car came to a halt next to the porch with screeching tyres; the driver’s door being thrown open and Liam emerged; a sniper rifle in his hands. He rushed over to Connor and Haytham; cursing under his breath as he checked on them both.

Blood was running down the Templar’s temple, and Liam realized what had happened. Carefully, he tried to pry the Grand Master from Connor’s desperate embrace. The young Assassin was sobbing inconsolably; trying to hold onto his father’s motionless frame while his breath was coming in shallow, fast little waves; unwilling to let go and in denial of what had happened – unable to understand why Haytham had pulled the trigger.

“No… no… Haytham, please…”, Connor sobbed as Liam tried to take him away; his bloody fingers still curled into his father’s shirt tightly; as if he could hold onto Haytham’s life itself. “I n-need you… please… I saved you…”

“Connor.”, Liam urged as he tried to slowly pry Haytham’s body from the young man’s grip. “Connor, we need to get you to the hospital.”

“N-no, I won’t leave him… I don’t… My fault…” The young man’s words were mumbled and incoherent; his whole attention focused solely on Haytham still.

“Connor –” Liam started but as he glanced up, he saw two other Assassins rounding the corner of the porch; and more were emerging from the hallway inside of the mansion, where Achilles had vanished. They lowered their weapons when they saw that the Grand Master was dead, and that Liam was the one having brought around the car.

“Help me with first aid and then get him into the car.”, Liam shouted and waved for them to help him safely move Connor. The two Assassins closest to them complied immediately; approaching Connor to pry Haytham’s body from the young man’s embrace to be able to access and tend to his injuries.

But there was defiance, anger and despair in Connor’s glance as he realized what they were doing, and before Liam could intervene, the young man had reached for the gun that had fallen from Haytham’s grip.

There were still tears escaping Connor’s dark eyes, but his expression was growing determined and angry; the gun in his hands pointed at the two Assassins. “Don’t touch me. Get away from me.”

Liam raised his hands even though the gun wasn’t pointed at him. “Hey – Connor. Put the gun down. It’s going to be okay –”

Turning to look at him, Connor scoffed. “You know that’s bullshit.”

With a slow shake of his head, Liam tried to reach out for the gun, but Connor quickly turned it against him.

“You left me in there!”, Connor snapped. “You left us both in there! I told you to make it stop, but you –” A sob escaped him. “You know what? I didn’t see him committing some... some fucking crimes like you all seem to think. You know what I saw? I saw –” He sobbed again; his gaze dropping down to Haytham’s head in his lap. “I saw…” His shoulders slumped, and he lowered the gun.

Liam took it from him, and briefly brushed his hand along Connor’s hand in a reassuring gesture. “It’s going to be alright, okay?”, he muttered; putting away the gun and gesturing for the Assassins to come closer.

First, they hauled Haytham’s lifeless body aside; ignoring Connor’s desperate protesting. Liam retrieved a first aid kit from the car, and they quickly looked the young man over – ripping his hoodie and dressing his wounds with gauze; tying it in place to create as much pressure as possible. Haytham had taken most of the cuts from their fall through the glass, but it was still difficult to assess Connor's injuries - cuts and three gun shot wounds. The bandaging was improvised – but the best they could do until Connor reached the hospital. The young man was protesting as they worked; one hand still curled into his father’s shirt. Haytham was lying next to him; face down on the porch, with blood radiating from him and filling in the small cracks of the stone tiles. The first light was warm and gentle, as if this day had any hope to offer.

Once they had done their best to stop the bleeding, they carefully moved Connor; trying to keep him in a stable position. The young man didn’t want to let go of Haytham – ripping at his father’s shirt as he was taken away – only a piece of blood-soaked fabric remaining in his hand as he was put on the backseats of the car with utmost care.

“No… Please! Please…”, Connor cried out quietly; unable to hold onto his father; his dark eyes fixed upon Haytham’s motionless frame on the porch and the dark lines of blood spreading out around him.

Liam sighed and approached the Grand Master’s body. Locking his arms underneath the other’s shoulders, Liam proceeded to drag Haytham towards the car, too; leaving bloody drag marks as he heaved the Templar over the porch.

“What are you doing?”, one of the Assassins asked.

“Help me put him in the trunk. I’ll ditch the body after I’ve brought Connor to the hospital. We need to vacate the premises a.s.a.p. and if we can make the Templars believe that Haytham is alive for a while longer – good. Buys us time to reassess our mission.”

“Are these Mentor Davenport’s orders?”

“Yes – come on, don’t just stand there, I need to get Connor to the hospital _right now.”_

They helped him haul Haytham’s body in the trunk of the car, and then Liam sped off; not looking back as he raced towards the nearest hospital. Connor was hiccupping and sobbing on the backseat behind him, but his noises were slowly growing quieter.

Connor closed his eyes; his heart breaking still. All of this was his fault. He remembered his first meeting with his father, and in a way, he had always known it would end like this – with his father’s blood on his hands. But never could he have known how much it hurt; how much it felt like part of him was lost forever – so much was left unsaid.

**2017 – Unknown Location, New York State Park, USA**

Connor knew who this man was.

He hadn’t met him before – not in person. But he had seen the older man on TV and in the papers. And, most importantly, the other’s headshot was dominating the board of targets in Connor’s study. Haytham Kenway, CEO of Abstergo and Grand Master of the American Rite – top target of the Assassins. As Achilles reminded him often, Haytham had to die if they really wanted to stop the Templars’ reach for power.

Connor knew everything about the other. Haytham was a ruthless, cunning man; a cold-blooded murderer and clever strategist. He was manipulative and calculating; he had no personal ties – everything he did was calculation for his own gain. He was Connor’s father, that much the young man knew – biologically, at least, but not emotionally. He had abandoned his mother and him; had let her die. Whatever he had had to gain from their relationship, he had left as soon as Ziio had lost value for him.

He had been a Templar by choice – even though his father had been an Assassin, Haytham had chosen to defy his father’s path; choosing as his mentor the very man who was responsible for Edward’s death. Connor knew all of this. Achilles had told him everything – at first, Connor had been eager to learn more about this person he wanted to think of as a father. But the more Achilles told him, the more he started to realize that this man would be incapable of caring for him – he had never cared for anyone, unless it personally benefitted him. He had killed his old mentor once he had seized power from him – willing to work with his father’s murderer as long as it granted him power. And then, once he had risen to the top, he had killed the former Grand Master. Connor didn’t know all the names and details – but it didn’t matter, he knew what his father had done; what kind of person he was.

So when Connor met him that foggy day in November, he didn’t let his guard down. He didn’t let himself be manipulated like some naïve schoolboy. No; he knew what the Grand Master was capable of – anything but the care Connor would’ve wished for when he had been a kid. Achilles had been right to stop him from approaching the other – Haytham might have killed him on sight – or, worse, used his naiveté to bend the boy to his will; to use him like he had used everyone around him.

Now, however, Connor was strong and skilled enough to defend himself; not fall prey to this dangerous man – not to his silver tongue, or his murderous blade. He didn’t listen to the other’s coaxing words; the lies. Not that Haytham was playing overly sweet – his words were cutting at times, and he clearly did not expect the young man’s friendliness. They had circled each other like predators, but neither had started a fight in the end. It was just words; and Connor ignored them as much as he could.

When he left the church ruins where Haytham had ambushed him that day, Connor was feeling and thinking many things. He reminded himself of what he knew about Haytham – about the truth of the other’s intentions; the truth of the Templars’ plans. They met a few more times - sometimes by chance, sometimes by appointment. And Connor helped to establish a truce after Haytham had proposed it - but for every interaction, Connor reminded himself of what kind of person his father was. That no matter what he said or did; it was all means to an end; manipulation, lies, to further his own goals. And when he was ordered to shoot Haytham with a tranq dart during an arranged meeting, Connor was almost pleased - he could be a part to stop his father's reign and retrieve the Piece of Eden for the Assassins' cause. Achilles would be proud.

**2019**

“Hey – hey, Connor, stay with me, okay?”, Liam said; glancing back at the young man briefly just to check that he was still conscious.

“I p-promised to g-get him out…”, Connor hiccupped; his features pale and pained. “It’s all my fault…”

“Connor…”

“No – you don’t understand. He… What I saw…” Connor sobbed; unable to pull himself together in the wake of serious injury, the aftermath of the profound bleeding effect, and great loss. “He didn’t deserve this… I didn’t know… He wasn’t what you told me he was. He deserved a chance… be happy… once…”

“Connor, listen –”

“No! Just stop the c-car. You wanna ditch his b-body? You can d-ditch mine by his side. I’d rather die than… than follow you any longer…”

Liam clenched his jaw. He had heard that before, more or less. “I know. That’s why I’m not bringing you back once you’re patched up, okay?”

There was a moment of silence, not even disrupted by any more solemn sobs. “What do you mean?” Connor’s voice was quiet; raw from crying.

“I’ll contact Shay while you’re getting the medical attention you need, alright? He’ll help us. He’ll understand.”

Another sob sounded, and Connor audibly bit back more sounds of desolation and pain. “B-but… It’s my fault Haytham is… Shay will never help me…”

“Connor, I’ve been trying to tell you – Haytham is fine. He’ll be fine, okay?”

The young man’s breath hitched. “N-no – he… he shot himself in the head; I…”

Liam glanced back at the other briefly before he concentrated back on the road. “It’s just a graze. I got him with my tranq rifle before he pulled the trigger – I was just getting the car when I heard shots and saw you on the porch – when I saw him with the gun, I just… I wasn’t sure what he would do, so I shot him with a tranq dart. I didn’t think he would still have a chance to pull the trigger, but he must’ve – determined bastard. But it only grazed him because he was already losing consciousness, I swear. I checked on him when I arrived, okay? I took the dart so the others would hopefully think he’s… I’ll get them to look over him at the hospital, too, I promise. That's why I took him with us.”

A quiet sound of relief, pain and worry left Connor’s lips. “Please, don’t lie to me, Liam… Even if I don’t make it, I need to know…”

“I swear, Connor. He’ll be fine. But it was better to have the others believe he is actually gone, right? It’ll all take hopefully long enough for us to get away - until they realize I’ve taken off with you.” Liam reached behind his seat to take Connor’s hand without having his gaze leave the street. “You got him out, okay? You did it. You saved him. Another chance at happiness, yeah?”


	10. Still Confused

**2 days later – Abstergo Medical Facility, New York, USA**

Haytham had been in and out of consciousness. Surfacing briefly from odd dreams that were infused by the vivid memories he had been subjected to recently, he had realized that he was in the hospital; that for some reason or another, he had survived. He remembered pulling the trigger. He remembered the sting of the tranq dart and the desperate attempt to escape – to kill himself before they would capture him and Connor. Perhaps, he had thought, they would forgive Connor’s wayward behaviour with the bleeding effect messing with his mind… But to truly end things, he had taken the shot. How he had gotten to the hospital, he didn’t know – this was an Abstergo facility even, so perhaps his men had found him after all?

When he woke up and felt somewhat lucid, he wasn’t alone. Shay sat next to his bed; not unlike Connor after Haytham had gotten sedated down in the Assassins’ hideout – half-asleep on the small visitor chair; arms crossed, and legs spread as he had made himself as comfortable as possible.

Haytham turned his head; for a moment content to watch the other nap. He hadn’t seen Shay in person in months, and it was truly a sight for sore eyes. A part of him was relieved - against all odds, he had made it. He was safe now, of that he could be sure with Shay by his side. But too much had happened for things to ever truly be the same again - not with Connor…

“Is Connor alright? Is he here?”, Haytham asked; his voice a little rough.

Shay blinked and glanced at him; his hazel eyes focusing on him slowly as he shook off the lingering slumber. A small smile appeared on the Irishman’s lips, and he straightened; reaching out to take one of Haytham’s hands. “He’s alright. He’s just down the hallway.” Squeezing the older man’s hand, Shay paused briefly before he added, “He was hurt bad, but Liam got him to the hospital quickly, and they managed to stop the bleeding. Liam… he called me, and I relocated both of you here as quickly as possible. Flew over from England as early as I could.”

 _“Liam_ helped us escape?” Haytham raised his eyebrows. So, his words _did_ have an impact after all – Liam had made the right choice in the end.

Shay nodded slowly; his expression brightening a little. “Just hearing his voice on the phone was… It’s good to have my brother back. After all these years.”

Squeezing the other’s hand, Haytham allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips – a good thing had come out of all of this, then – he knew how much Shay had missed his brother in all but blood; and how worried he had been that one day, he would have to go up against him directly in a manner of life and death.

“How long have we been here?”

“Two days.” Shay’s expression darkened; his eyes still resting on the older Templar and Haytham could almost guess what came next. “Now, wanna tell me why you tried to kill yourself?”

Haytham scoffed. “I didn’t –”

Gesturing towards Haytham’s head, where the Grand Master could feel some sort of bandaging, Shay was not having it. “Nuh-uh. You almost shot yourself – if it hadn’t been for Liam, you would’ve succeeded.”

Squinting at his old friend, Haytham raised his chin in defiance. “It was a _necessary_ means to stop them from getting to the Apple.”

But the Irishman still wasn’t satisfied. “ _Don’t_ bullshit me. You could’ve run. Liam told me what happened. Why didn’t you run, Haytham?”

The Grand Master clenched his jaw. Only after a moment of silence he said, “Because Achilles would have been more concerned about catching me than getting Connor to a hospital.”

There was a long silence, and Haytham averted his gaze to stare at the white sheet that covered him; his head hurting. He wasn’t often put on the spot like this, and Shay was perhaps the only person who could do so without consequences.

“For fuck’s sake.”, Shay muttered eventually; shifting closer and still holding onto the older man’s hand. “I don’t quite understand how it reached a point where Connor was willing to get shot for you, and you were willing to give yourself the bullet to help Connor survive that, but… in the future, I want you to _only_ go by a plan where you both make it. I don’t…” He brushed his fingers along Haytham’s hand. “You know I still care about you. I always will. Please, Sir. I don’t want to have to bury you. Who cares about that bloody artefact - I care about you so much more than this _thing,_ and you should know that. It's replaceable, you’re _not.”_

“The Apple isn’t replaceable -”, Haytham interjected, but a stare from Shay silenced him. He sighed; gently squeezing his old friend’s hand in a silent, apologetic response. “Tell me more about Connor’s condition.”, Haytham asked instead of following up further on that difficult topic.

Shay sighed at the change of topic but complied. Leaning back in the small visitor chair, he glanced at Haytham and did his best to recount. “He was shot three times – one went clean through his side, and actually grazed you, too, judging by the height of the bullet. It was right next to a big cut, so you might’ve not felt it as what it was. The other went into the shoulder; he already had surgery for it, but he might have to have another one. It’s the side where he carried his hidden blade - that thing deflected a good two or three bullets, judging by Connor’s bruises and the dents in it. He can’t move the arm as of yet. The third was the most dangerous – his thigh. He lost a lot of blood.” Shay sighed again. “Reckless boy. You should be proud – and make sure he never does it again.”

“What – are you saying next time _I_ should make sure to be the one getting shot three times?”, Haytham said with amusement, though his heart was heavy and oddly full with the knowledge that Connor had shielded him - even if his actions had been borne from confusion and the bleeding effect.

Shay raised an eyebrow. “No, Sir. I’m saying _both of you_ should try not to get shot at. As in, at all.”

A crooked smile flashed over the Grand Master’s lips. “Sounds difficult in our line of work.”

“Well, I have to say – I have managed pretty well not to get shot lately.”

Giving a hum of consideration, Haytham allowed the crooked smile to linger on his lips just a moment longer. _“Lately.”,_ he repeated with amusement. “Well, how about I go and check on my son?”

Shay straightened. “Sure, you can visit him. Let me get a wheelchair.”

Grimacing, Haytham readied himself to move. “Come on, that won’t be necessary – I’m perfectly fine to –”

A steely resolution was visible in the Irishman’s hazel eyes, and he loomed over Haytham; assuring that the other took his IV with him but didn’t dare to leave the bed just yet. “Nope. Either like this or not at all. Your choice.”

Grumbling, Haytham agreed.

Connor looked pale against the white sheets of the hospital bed, and his shoulder was heavily bandaged – doubtlessly to make sure he couldn’t move it and endanger the efforts of surgery. Haytham wasn’t sure if the younger man was sleeping or just resting, but the longer he looked at him, the more he reckoned he was truly asleep. So, Haytham quietly instructed Shay, “Just let me sit by his side for a moment.”

The other complied; manoeuvring the wheelchair so that Haytham was sitting next to his son’s bed. They exchanged a nod, and the Irishman left.

For a moment, Haytham just watched Connor sleep; wondering if the young man regretted his split-second decision to throw himself in front of the Grand Master. He had been badly hurt, and he could not easily return to the Brotherhood, even if he wanted.

After a while, the Templar reached out to take the younger man’s hand.

Connor stirred and blinked – slowly turning his head to see whose touch had woken him up. His expression softened once he recognized his father, and his fingers laced with Haytham’s. “How…?”, Connor started but his voice gave out.

Glancing around, Haytham saw a glass of water. He took it and helped Connor take a few gulps. “I’m fine.”, he replied quietly; for some reason perfectly aware what the other had wanted to ask. “Unlike you, I wasn’t actually shot.”, he added; raising an eyebrow.

With a sigh, Connor stared at him; dark eyes large and hurt. “Why… Why did you try to…?”

Haytham did his best not to give a deep sigh. Why was everyone so fucking intent on talking to him about that? He had done what was necessary –

“It was necessa-”

“I meant to save you.”, Connor interrupted him; his gaze still fixed upon his father. “I need you. _Please.”_

Haytham clenched his jaw; his bright eyes locked with the young man’s. It was… _odd_ – to have Shay and Connor talk like this; they had to understand that for the mission, for the bigger picture, it had been the right decision.

“I promised to get you out.”, Connor added quietly.

“And you did.” Haytham squeezed the other’s hand. Connor had paid a high price for this promise – he had lost his Creed, and had gotten hurt badly.

There was much to discuss – about the future; about where they would go from here. But Connor looked exhausted, and Haytham reckoned they better talked about it after the young man had healed up and had been able to make a decision about what he really wanted.

“I…”, Connor started, and Haytham was snapped out of his considerations. “I wanted to apologize.”, the young man mumbled. “For everything. I never should’ve agreed to… to kidnap you. I’m sorry. And I… I didn’t tell them much, I swear. I… I didn’t tell them anything… _personal,_ really.”

Haytham nodded slowly. It probably explained Achilles impatience and calling Connor out of the room that evening – with the young man going into Haytham’s memories so frequently and not giving them much information, Haytham imagined the old mentor to grow suspicious. Perhaps that was why Connor had claimed to have seen the Piece of Eden.

“A-and I’m sorry for… _uh.”_ Connor swallowed heavily; his gaze dropping down to their hands enveloping each other. A blush dusted his pale cheeks and crept down his neck. “W-what I did before we escaped.”, he added ever so quietly; breathless and nervous.

Haytham gave an amused snort as he realized what Connor was talking about. “It’s alright, boy.”, he said. “It was just the bleeding effect messing with your head. I do not hold it against you. We shall just forget it happened, okay? Just as you should perhaps forget a few things you’ve… _seen.”_

For just a moment, Haytham allowed himself to recall that strange moment – it seemed far away; long ago now. And yet, it was vivid in his mind – Connor’s lips on his neck; his voice soft and wanton – _Haytham…_ The way he had said his father’s name; it had been… Haytham shuddered. It had been longing, warm and gentle – a way he could have never imagined Connor to utter his name. It seemed almost sad to think he would never hear it again – whispered like that. He shook himself mentally.

Connor didn’t react for a moment, then, quietly, he said, “Yeah. The bleeding effect. Forget it happened.” His gaze was still fixed upon their hands, and if Haytham didn’t know any better, he would have said Connor looked... torn?

“I mean it.”, Haytham said, squeezing the other’s hand. “There is a lot we may have to leave behind us, and this will have to be a fresh start in many respects. But we shall talk about that more once you have recovered. You should know that I do not expect you to…” He fell silent as he realized that Connor wasn’t listening. The young man still stared at their hands; his mind clearly racing. Then he glanced up; his expression almost desperate.

“No.”, Connor said; wide-eyed and a bit anxious.

“No?”

“It wasn’t that.”, the younger man said almost breathlessly – then he realized that Haytham still had no idea what he was talking about. “I mean –” He swallowed; his gaze briefly dropping down again. “It wasn’t just the bleeding effect.” His voice was small and anxious; and his grip on his father’s hand tightened subconsciously. “I… it _was_ the effect in that I… _I…_ ” He took a deep breath. “I still felt like I felt when… like _we_ felt… like _you_ felt when… when you had been with Shay. This… warmth.” His other hand came up to his chest; deep in thought; clutching his shirt just above his heart. “This… closeness and… trust. This desire.” His gaze returned to look at Haytham; a dark blush creeping back on his cheeks and down his neck.

The Grand Master stared at him; not entirely sure what Connor was getting at. He knew this – as he had said, he didn’t hold it against him –

“But I wanted it.”, Connor added breathlessly; his voice just a whisper; his dark eyes large.

Haytham furrowed his brows, about to respond and ask what the hell Connor was talking about, when, slowly, he started to understand. His first impulse was to pull away – to stand up and –

Connor’s grip on his hand tightened a little more – almost as if it was a desperate sort of motion to keep Haytham by his side; as if he had understood that his father was about to pull away. So, the CEO stayed put; frozen as he tried to grasp what his son was implying.

“I wanted it.”, Connor repeated in a hurried little whisper as if to make sure that these words had been spoken.

“What do you mean?”, Haytham asked quietly; trying to overcome the unwillingness to understand what precisely Connor meant. Was he still confused? Still suffering from the bleeding effect; days later?

The blush on Connor’s cheeks darkened, but rather than just flustered, he looked anxious. “I – I mean –”, he started; his voice giving out. “I wanted to be close to you. Close – like that. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. This feeling…”

For a moment, Haytham just stared at him; trying to gauge whether or not Connor was being serious – clear-headed, or confused still.

The young man’s grip on his hand tightened a little further; his gaze piercing but desperate. “I know I’m your t-type.”, he added in a determined little stutter.

Making a face, Haytham pulled away slightly, though was still holding onto the other’s hand. “You’re my _son_ , Connor.”

“Is that really how you feel?” Connor’s voice was a soft whisper; bordering on heartbroken, if anything.

Haytham managed a brief half-smile; trying to convey that he did care – that this was not an admission of less; not a rejection of affection. “Of course. And I’m sure you’ll realize soon that you’re still confused.”, he brought out; squeezing the other’s hand. “And that’s perfectly understandble after everything that has happened. We’ll figure it out together, I promise.” Why was his heart aching like this, though? It was entirely clear that Connor needed more time to get over this strange entanglement with the past. They both did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your comments and kudos! I appreciate every single one, so please don't hesitate to let me know what you think or feel after the chapters, I'm always happy to hear back. ❤︎


	11. A Tree, of Many, One

**4 months later – The Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Tokyo, Japan**

_Haytham’s phone buzzed, and the CEO put his laptop aside on which he had been typing a report; briefly glancing at the display before he accepted the video call. It was Connor – not an unusual occurrence in the past months. Smiling softly to himself, he waited for the connection to fully load. It was always good to speak to –_

_Something was wrong. The picture was blurring and moving quickly with distorted colours flickering over the screen. Rustling. “No! N –” – Connor’s voice cutting off abruptly. Haytham’s grip on the phone tightened as his heart leapt in his chest.  
_

_“Connor? What’s wrong? Where are you? Talk to me!”_

_Connor had been staying with Shay in Kenway Manor – formerly known as Birch Estate. It was for his own safety to be outside of the US for a while, and Shay was the perfect guardian – all too familiar with the struggle the young ex-Assassin was confronted with. He had readily agreed to take on Connor - both in regards to his journey to fully recover from the events surrounding Haytham’s kidnapping, as well as the more difficult navigation of what he wanted to do with his life, now that he had left the Creed for good (as Connor had professed to). There was no one else Haytham trusted with his son’s safety as much as Shay, so he had agreed to send the young man to England; to stay with Shay and his partner for a while._

_The picture shifted and then stabilized, and Haytham’s heart stopped. Connor and Shay – kneeling on the floor; naked and restrained – bruised and dishevelled; gagged and held down by masked, armed men. The Grand Master recognized where they were – had the bunker not been demolished? He stared at the screen; unable to breathe, move or think._

_The younger man glanced at the camera; his dark eyes apologetic and desperate, but he was gagged and no further sound came over Connor’s lips. Tears were glistening in his eyes - tears of understanding what was happening, and that his father would be watching - he looked like he thought that it didn’t matter what happened to him, if only Haytham didn’t have to watch…  
_

_No, no… This couldn’t be happening…_ again _… Haytham tried to fight the nauseating dizziness that threatened to overtake him; his mind racing with what he could do - but he was so far away; even if…  
_

_“You know what will happen to them, Haytham.”, a familiar voice sounded and interrupted Haytham’s spiralling thoughts. “When will you ever learn? You keep sacrificing others for your own benefit. At least you should have to watch what happens to the people you claim to care about – watch the consequences of your selfishness.” The person holding the camera slowly walked closer towards Shay and Connor. Connor glanced at the camera – desperate to speak, but unable to. “And after we’re done with them, you can watch how we slit their throats, ear to ear, and watch how they struggle to –”_

His phone buzzed.

Haytham startled awake; his heart racing, his head hurting. Heavens, what a nightmare… Not the first in the past months, and probably not the last. These nightmares weaving together past and present were reoccurring ever since his kidnapping. He knew that it was the same for Connor, who called him sometimes when he had awoken from similar horrors – wanting to assure his father’s well-being, and knowing that the other understood these terrible dreams better than anyone else. Haytham still recalled all too well when Connor had called him for the first time - shaking and sobbing; muttering how he still felt their hands on him… Haytham shuddered. He was glad that Connor had only experienced parts of what had happened in those long hours, but he had experienced _more_ than enough to fill his nightmares with vivid, horrendous moments.

Haytham felt sweaty and cold; his fingers shaky as he reached for his phone. Just after midnight. It was a video call – from Connor. For a brief moment, his heart missed a beat. His dream was just a dream, _right?_ He swiped to accept the call; trying to appear somewhat composed. Hopefully the young man simply had had a nightmare, too – but no it was only afternoon in England - Haytham couldn’t help but hold his breath until he knew Connor was alright.

“Are you alright?”, Haytham asked breathlessly as soon as the connection went through.

A somewhat confused Connor appeared on the screen; adjusting the phone and squinting at his own device. “I – uh, yeah. Sorry, did I wake you?” He moved around in a small space that Haytham identified as Connor’s room. It was up in the manor’s tower; a relatively small room, but with a beautiful view over the cliffs and the ocean. Haytham had never been up there during his stay in the estate, and he was glad that he had no negative memories associated with the space his son occupied daily. Connor had sent him pictures from peaceful sunsets and dramatic sunrises - in fact, the young man had sent him pictures every day; sometimes from around the estate, selfies, nature shots and, occasionally, pictures of Shay, who generally appeared amused even if a little bewildered. Every time his phone buzzed and he found a notification of Connor having sent a picture, Haytham's heart jumped a little. Even if he wouldn’t quite admit it, he enjoyed these glimpses into the young man’s daily life.

Haytham rubbed his eyes and shifted to sit up in the vast bed. His eyes flickered up to the skyline of Tokyo – blinking, colourful lights illuminating the view he had. It was not dissimilar to New York City, but at the same time, it evoked an entirely different panorama. A shudder of relief ran through him, and he took a deep breath to calm down his galloping heart. “What’s wrong?”, Haytham asked instead of replying; wondering why the other was calling. Connor was usually acutely aware of their time difference, and, surely, he wouldn’t have forgotten that Haytham was currently on a business trip in Japan.

“Nothing – I just wanted to be the first –”

“The first?”

Connor made a face, but he seemed somewhat amused at the same time. He settled on his bed; switching on a small lamp and making himself comfortable but never taking off his eyes from the screen. “Happy birthday?”, he said in a questioning tone; clearly supressing a grin as he waited for the penny to drop.

“What?” Haytham stared at him for a second. _“Oh.”_ Glancing at the date on his phone, he sighed. _Right._ He had known his birthday was during the conference in Tokyo, but… it had temporarily slipped his mind as he was caught up in the particulars of work.

“Well, at least I know I am the first to congratulate you, otherwise you wouldn’t be so surprised.”, Connor muttered, the grin briefly flashing over his lips after all. “How’re things in, uh, Tokyo?”

Wordlessly, Haytham turned around his phone – sharing the view of the city he had from his bed.

“Wow. What a view.”, Connor muttered, and Haytham kept the phone like that for a moment longer so that the other could appreciate it a little more. It was a relatively clear night; cold, doubtlessly.

When he turned the phone around again, Connor seemed to have another comment on his lips, but visibly kept himself from saying anything.

Haytham felt tired but contempt to enjoy Connor’s company, as much as that was possible through their video calls. They had started after the young man had left the States, shortly after being discharged from the hospital. Shay had accompanied the process, and Haytham had recognized that he would be an excellent mentor for Connor. He was patient enough for the young man’s temper – probably used to it through Haytham’s own occasional outbursts. At the same time, Shay knew better than anyone else what Connor was going through in terms of leaving the Brotherhood.

But it had also become entirely clear that Connor needed to talk to his father regularly, too; haunted by the memories that weren’t his’ and the traumatic incidents during their escape - shot by the people he had called his friends, and watching as his father _(almost)_ shot himself. Only now they had truly gotten to know each other, and Haytham had been struck by the realization of what a brilliant young man Connor really was; he was thoughtful, kind and clever, attentive, humble and passionate about what he thought was right –

“I wanted to show you your present.”, Connor muttered after a moment of silence, and Haytham was snapped from his considerations. Before he could utter any words of discouragement – he didn’t like surprises and presents, really – Connor was already fumbling with the phone. “I wanted to show you during the call, but it gets dark _way_ too early. And cold. _Ugh,_ it’s so cold now – just, the rain and the wind…” Connor shook his head a little. “Eh. Can you pull up our chat? I’m sending you pics. I’ll show you in person some other time, promise.”

Dutifully, Haytham opened their chat, wondering what Connor wanted to show him. The first picture of a series arrived, and Haytham opened it full screen, with Connor’s face from the video chat just appearing in the corner of his phone. Haytham squinted. It was a picture from around the estate – just where it bordered on the old forest. Heavens, he hadn’t been there in… _decades,_ possibly. But he recognized it nonetheless – it was not far from where Jim and him would meet. It looked different now – a few recent storms had uprooted and broken some of the old trees, and he knew that Shay had had to hire some professional forestry company to deal with the damages.

He flipped to the next picture, not entirely sure what the point was just yet. There Connor was – beaming at the camera. He was wearing a Scottish jumper that made Haytham smile a little – he remembered those colourful, woollen sweaters. Jim had some that looked pretty much the same. Connor wore gloves and a hat, too; in his hand a spade.

The next picture showed Connor digging – only on the fourth, there was a small tree next to him; clearly about to be planted. Haytham wasn’t sure why exactly Connor thought planting a tree for his birthday was a particularly useful present, but then he swiped to the last picture, and suddenly it made sense.

It showed a metal plaque at the foot of the small tree; it read,

_In Loving Memory of_   
_James “Jim” Holden_   
_1968 – 1989_   
_‘But there’s a tree, of many, one,_   
_A single field which I have look’d upon,_   
_Both of them speak of something that is gone’_

Haytham’s breath went away as he stared at the picture; his heart clenching both woefully and happily. _Jim…_

“Uh – do you… do you like it?”, Connor’s nervous voice sounded, and Haytham blinked. He swiped to have the video call in fullscreen again; staring at his son.

“It’s a quote from W –”

“William Wordsworth, yes, I know.”, Haytham interrupted him; his voice rough and his gaze still fixed upon Connor. “’The pansy at my feet, Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?’”, he recited quietly; finishing the stanza.

 _Did I fucking raise William Wordsworth?_ Well, I guess you did, bastard, Haytham thought to himself with some satisfaction.

Connor nodded; his expression still anxious as his father hadn’t indicated whether or not he found the memorial appropriate. When Haytham still didn’t say anything, he added hastily, “I’m just – I walk past there every day and I – uh, I… I almost expect to run into him, you know?” He grimaced. “Sorry. I know it’s… it’s ridiculous, but… I’m sorry if this is… not appropriate? I don’t know. I just – I wanted to have – something there. Something that –”

_“Connor.”_

The young man fell silent; his big eyes anxiously fixated on the screen.

“I love you.”

The words were out before Haytham had thought about them; before they had appeared in his mind. They had been in his heart, surely, but – He stared at the screen, surprised at himself for uttering them.

“Wh – _uh_ – ?” Connor’s cheeks turned a dark shade of pink, and he clearly tried to sort through the information – as surprised as Haytham to hear these words from the Grand Master. Unsure, perhaps, how they were meant. But the expression in his eyes changed almost immediately - there was warmth and hope.

For a split second, Haytham had the desire to hang up and pretend he had never said what he had said. But deep down, he craved this hope – this chance for happiness. “What you said in the hospital – you still mean it, do you not?”

The young man just nodded slowly; unable to form a coherent sentence. His dark eyes were filled with this desperate sort of hope – not unlike the way he had looked at his father back in the hospital.

Haytham took a deep breath. It was out now, and even though he was surprised himself at having said it – he had known how he felt for a while now; pretending it was some sort of confusion; desperation perhaps. But just like Connor hadn’t been confused, he knew he wasn’t either. And the other’s present – his call tonight; it made it impossible not to tell Connor how much he loved him. “I should have believed you back then, because I feel the same.” Haytham’s voice was quiet and earnest, and his gaze was piercing as ever. If only he could reach out -

“Wish you were here.”, Connor brought out breathlessly.


	12. Kenway Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I hope you are all holding up well. Grad school is pretty crazy in these times, and so is moving to a whole new country and town. But I'm working on my stories whenever I can, so watch out for more updates soon.
> 
> I have to admit that initially, I had a pretty depressive ending for this story sketched out (and mostly written). It echoed well the demise of Connor and Haytham's canon miscommunication and stubbornness, and I enjoyed the delicious angst of it. However, with the world being absolutely depressing as it is, I re-wrote the ending, and decided to add a type of "bonus" chapter. Most things will be resolved in this chapter, but I dive into the effects of the dark memories Haytham and Connor experienced together a little more in the "bonus" chapter (13). 
> 
> Thanks for staying with the story!! I hope you have enjoyed the ride. I really appreciate every single kudos and comment, thank you so much.

**2020 – Kenway Manor, Northern England**

The helicopter landed in the late afternoon. It was a brilliant day in August, and the flight from London had been smooth. There were just a few picturesque clouds in the sky, and Haytham had watched the sun hover over the glistening ocean spanning the horizon as they had flown in to Kenway Manor. The building had appeared small amidst the forested lands and grassy hills, but coming closer, one could appreciate the size of the estate. It was the first time Haytham had come here in many years – only the second time since Shay had taken up operations and chosen Kenway Manor as his base. It was large enough to accommodate some men; had facilities for training, and storage space for both non-digital archives as well as the servers needed to uphold communication. While the bunker had been demolished, other facilities had been built within the estate, though Shay had been careful not to alter the landscape too deeply. For now, the location was unknown to Assassins, but Achilles' Brotherhood had been particularly active in the past couple of months, and Haytham had urged the Irishman to secure the parameter thoroughly.

Shay didn’t know the details of Haytham’s past here, and the Grand Master had never seen it necessary to paint the horrors of his teenage years into the light, bucolic landscape that the Irishman clearly enjoyed as the backdrop of his operations. He stayed in the manor with his partner, and Haytham suspected that he called it home after all these years. Connor, too, had, in the slip of his tongue, referred to it as home, despite knowing the memories that echoed within these walls – memories that were not distant to him, and caused nightmares still.

The CEO was not primarily anxious or displeased to return to the estate, however. He was looking forward to seeing Connor for the first time since they had parted ways the previous year after the young man had been discharged from the hospital. They had meant to spend Christmas together, but the plan had fallen apart as Haytham had to tend to urgent business dealings in China – where he gotten stuck early this following year. Only in March had he been able to return to the US, where he had been incredibly busy with the developing situation.

He had wanted to fly to England for a weekend around Connor’s birthday, but once more had to cancel plans in the last minute. Now, finally, things had aligned in their favour, and Haytham’s heartbeat was quickening as they approached the meadow just North of the manor, where the helicopter could land easily. Connor, Shay, and some of Shay’s men were waiting for Haytham’s arrival, and the Grand Master could spot their small figures standing at a safe distance; waiting for the helicopter to touch down.

Only when Haytham emerged from the vehicle, they started walking towards it – or, running, rather, in Connor’s case. Haytham couldn’t help but smile.

Connor’s hair had gotten longer – which Haytham knew from the video calls, but it was different seeing it now; braided loosely with some colourful ribbon. The young man was wearing an oversized t-shirt and jeans; looking fully like a civilian. In a way, Connor _was_ a civilian for now. While Shay had trained him and continued to do so, Connor wasn’t an active field agent for the Templars as of yet. And Haytham was reluctant to appoint him as such. He had mainly blamed that on the complications that had arisen from Connor’s injuries – he had had surgery for his shoulder again earlier this year, and he was still not entirely back to his old strength on that side. There was no rush to appoint Connor to any specific mission anyways, and the young man was safe right here, where he could more freely find out what he wanted himself – away from older men telling him what he had to do; what he needed to do to become the best version of himself. While Haytham wasn’t beneath commenting on wanting to have his son by his side, he was well aware of what Birch had done to him, and what Achilles had tried to do with Connor – and he was not going to repeat those mistakes and abuses.

So, he had given Connor time. Time to find himself after the tumultuous events, and the years of being told who he was, and what to think. It was also time they had spent getting to know one another, and exploring the more illicit aspect of their blossoming relationship. Connor had quickly settled into his life here – quicker than Haytham would have thought, but he had been relieved to see the young man so relaxed and at ease. Shay had told him, not long ago, that one night, he had run into Connor in the kitchen. The young man had been half-asleep, getting some water. Shay had been up late working; seeing the young man wander about and getting some water for him – to which Connor had replied, “Thanks, Dad.” And wandered off with the glass.

Shay had been somehow under the impression that perhaps Haytham was taking offense at the notion of Connor seeing a fatherly figure in Shay, but the CEO had been quick to promise his old friend that he didn’t mind. To himself, he had thought that it was possibly for the best that Connor projected his paternal figure onto Shay rather than him – though, Connor _had_ called him Daddy more than once in the past few months… But that was an entirely different story.

They embraced as Connor threw himself into his father’s arms. Haytham closed his eyes and breathed in the other’s vaguely familiar scent. It had been a year since they had seen each other in person, and it was the first time ever since they had agreed to explore their relationship in more than familial terms. But Shay and others were watching, so neither of them did what they longed to do. Instead, they pulled away after a long hug; eyes locking for a brief moment in recognition of what they wished to do but couldn’t. Connor beamed at him, and it took a surprising amount of self-restraint for Haytham not to just kiss him.

Instead, Haytham proceeded to greet Shay, who had stepped closer as well.

“Good to see you. Both of you.”, Haytham muttered; wrapping an arm around each of them as they slowly walked towards the manor. It was a beautiful day.

The two of them showed him around in the renovated Manor, and Haytham mainly enjoyed the tour. It was, still, strange to walk through these very halls that he had learned to fear as a teenager – they had been places of humiliation and violence, and it was a looming feeling he had troubles shaking off, no matter how bright and differently decorated those rooms were now. Shay had done a good job of modernizing the place without losing its historicity, and Haytham complimented him on that. Shay seemed pleased, though insisted that it was his partner’s good influence rather than his own achievement. Chris, his partner, was currently away, though he had stayed with them for most of the summer. Connor had initially been taken aback by Chris’ jovial demeanour, but once he had warmed up to him, he seemed to enjoy their banter. More than once he had commented on how happy Shay and Chris seemed together, and Haytham had been glad to hear it.

After they had had dinner together, Connor excused himself to do some daily exercises for his shoulder, and to take a shower. For a while, Haytham stayed with Shay and they enjoyed a whiskey together; sitting by the fireplace and talking about mostly private things rather than work. Every now and then, Haytham glanced at his phone – nothing unusual in his position as CEO. But it wasn’t work he was catching up with.

 _all clean for u~ [Connor. 22.43]_ There was a picture attached, and Haytham only opened it after he had made sure Shay couldn’t possibly catch a glimpse of it. Rightfully so.

_Naughty… [Haytham. 22.46]_

_very much so! you coming to teach me a lesson daddy? [Connor. 22.47]_ Another, equally explicit picture followed. _  
_

_Soon. You better not have too much fun without me. [Haytham. 22.49]_

_depends on how long u take~ [Connor. 22.52]_

Eventually, Haytham, excused himself – claiming he was tired from the journey and eager to get some rest. His guest room was in a different part of the manor, and he briefly washed up and changed into a light pyjama for the night. But he wasn’t about to go to sleep just yet; not when, after months, Connor was waiting for him; in person, not just via video chat.

_I will be there shortly. Better be ready, boy… [Haytham. 23.29]_

Silently, Haytham made his way through the quiet manor. There were certainly guards downstairs, and the perimeter was under surveillance; but in here, there was only the soft sound of an old clock ticking heavily, and some distant snoring. It was eerie to wander through these familiar halls so late in the evening; deserted and suddenly much more reminiscent of the space Haytham had lived in as a teenager. He took a deep breath to shake off that lingering uneasiness; quietly making his way to the stairs leading up to Connor’s room in the manor’s tower.

_“Haytham.”_

The Grand Master stopped dead in his tracks. Birch’s voice – echoing in the quiet, dim house. Of course, it couldn’t be – he had watched the old man die, many years ago. And yet; he couldn’t help the cold, claustrophobic shudder that ran through him; the icy hand that squeezed the air out of his lungs. Just like that day in France – standing up against Birch personally for the first time. Even when he had seized power within the company and the Order, he had not overthrown the old Grand Master face to face. Then, years later, with Jenny by his side, he still froze. It was like all air left the room; like there was no way to breathe – anxiety’s grip closing around his heart; around him, making it impossible to move. No other person had ever had that effect on him; no other person could render him mute and paralyzed. Dizziness and nausea had run through him as he had listened to those insults that he still sometimes heard in his head; that nagging voice telling him he was incapable of taking care of anyone; _fucking scum;_ that the only thing he was good at was violence; _faggot;_ his purpose in the world was to fight; _useless piece of shit;_ that he was the reason his father was dead; _heartless bastard;_ that…

“Haytham?”

A distant voice; not Birch’s. Haytham blinked; trying to focus on the floor and shake off that spinning. Someone came into view, and at first, Haytham flinched back.

“Hey – It’s me. What happened?”

Hands brushed along his shoulders and cupped his cheeks; gently forcing him to look up. Only slowly Haytham’s eyes focused on his son in front of him. Connor’s expression was concerned and once he saw that his father recognized him, he shifted closer; wrapping his arms around the other and placing a hesitant kiss to the corner of Haytham’s mouth.

Haytham drew back a little; still slightly out of it. “If someone sees us…”, he muttered quietly. After all, they were still in the hallway just leading up to the stairs to Connor’s room; theoretically, a guard or Shay or anyone could wander by on accident.

Connor smiled; not backing away. “Even if. Nothing terrible would happen to either of us. You’re in control. It’s Kenway manor now, remember?”

Struck by the other’s words, Haytham relaxed a little in the younger man’s arms; taking a shaky breath as he tried to let go of that feeling of impending doom. “Kenway manor…”, he repeated in a mutter as a reminder to himself. He wrapped his arms around Connor’s waist and shifted closer still; his lips brushing against the other’s briefly before he closed the gap between them.

Their first kiss was tender and slow. It was an almost shy gesture that finally manifested the longing they had felt for many months now; the longing to be with each other, to embrace one another, and map out each other’s bodies and preferences. Connor gave a soft sigh into their kiss; eager and delighted as he opened his lips and met his father’s tongue with his own. Haytham’s grip tightened ever so slightly; the other’s warm, broad frame in his arms felt incredible – after all these months, he couldn’t help but savour the way the younger man’s body felt against his own. He had dreamed about it; fantasized at times, but, of course, he could never have anticipated the way it felt now – their breath mingling, their heartbeat in synch.

His fingers slipped beneath the other’s shirt, and a thrill ran through him at the feeling of Connor’s soft, warm skin beneath his fingertips. It was a thrill he hadn’t felt in a long time; sparked by an intimacy he hadn’t allowed in many, many years.

 _“Nh_ – let’s –” Connor broke away; his face flushed and his eyes dark with anticipation. He grabbed his father’s hand and led him towards the stairs and up to his room; giving them the proper privacy to continue this exploration. Only now, Haytham allowed himself to really take in the other’s form; to appreciate the way the young man’s shirt hugged his broad frame, and his tight boxers did nothing to obscure the taut curve of his ass. Connor’s hair was in a bun – probably a convenient way to deal with his mane after the shower he had taken earlier.

The young man locked the door to his room once they were inside, and Haytham had barely time to glance around and finally see the room that had served as a backdrop in many video calls and pictures over the span of the past months, before Connor moved against him again; continuing their kiss more roughly now as he pressed his father against the locked door. The room was only dimly illuminated by Connor’s bedside lamp, but it was enough light to see each other clearly and appreciate this first opportunity to experience each other’s closeness in person.

Haytham complied willingly with his son's demanding kiss; wrapping his arms around the other’s waist once more, and slipping his fingers beneath his son’s shirt in a bolder exploration. While he knew these curves well from sight, actually feeling them beneath his fingertips was entirely different, and he enjoyed every moment of it. That voice – sounding terribly like Birch, in a way – that had told him he shouldn’t indulge in this - that he had somehow manipulated Connor into this - had stopped month ago. Seeing Connor relaxed and delighted with the attention he received, and dealing with his mischievous habit of sending Haytham inappropriate pictures at the worst possible moments, had all convinced the Grand Master that it was truly Connor's own volition.

And right now, Haytham was glad to have no doubts distracting him from the feeling of his son's hands running greedily over his broad frame. Soon, Connor started working on the buttons of his father's pyjama top without breaking their heated, sloppy kiss. Haytham was vaguely reminded of that encounter in the Assassin’s basement, but of course, it was all different now, and his thoughts did not linger on that moment either. Once the young man had opened the shirt, he pushed it off of his father’s shoulders impatiently. His fingers resumed their hungry exploration of Haytham’s skin, and the Grand Master shuddered at those bold, knowing touches. While it was the first time that Connor was able to actually touch him, the young man did know how his father’s body well from their video chats, too; and knew how Haytham enjoyed to be touched. It was an odd mixture – the spark of their first physical encounter, and the intimate knowledge of each other’s preferences.

Connor pulled away but pressed his hand against Haytham’s bare chest in a silent gesture to stay put. The Grand Master complied once more; his bright eyes intense as he watched the young man take a few steps backwards. Locking eyes with him, Connor beamed; somehow both coy and delighted to have the older man’s attention so fully. The young man’s gaze dropped down to run over Haytham’s exposed chest, and the Templar knew that while Connor doubtlessly appreciated the familiar sight in person, he was searching for those dark scars that their fall through the door had left on Haytham’s body, too.

Stopping by the bed, Connor slipping his fingers beneath his shirt, and all too slowly, pulled it over his head. Underneath, he revealed a black harness – not having a particular function aside from accentuating his muscular chest quite wonderfully. Haytham raised an eyebrow; having seen it on Connor before. The young man crawled on the bed; running his fingers over his chest slowly and letting Haytham anticipate the moment he was invited to join. Slowly rubbing against his cock through the fabric of his boxers; Connor left no doubt about how aroused he was. Letting his father have a good view, he turned around; raising his ass from the mattress invitingly.

“Come on, Daddy…” The young man spread his legs slightly and hooked his thumb in the back of his boxers; pulling them down just enough to reveal the curve of his ass.

With his heart missing a beat in anticipation and want, Haytham approached the bed; shedding his pyjama pants but leaving on the boxers for now. The prominent bulge in them left no doubt that he enjoyed the sight. He towered over his son as he joined him on the bed; running both of his hands along the young man’s broad frame and only stopping at his hips; pulling them backwards and in place as he pressed his cock against that delightful, inviting curve of Connor's ass.

Connor gasped in delight; pressing backwards against his father eagerly.

For a while, Haytham was content to explore their closeness just like this; feel the shape and warmth of Connor’s body beneath him; his quivering breath and the soft sounds breathed out against the pillow in front of him that did little to actually mute those delightful noises. Haytham grinded against him lazily; pressing his erection against the other’s ass and rolling his hips; enjoying the friction and the anticipation equally. He leaned over the young man and pressed kisses along the curve of Connor’s neck, shoulders and back – sometimes leaving hickeys along the way and enjoying the wanton sounds he could force over Connor’s lips whenever he nipped at his skin. His lips sought the scar on the other's shoulder where he had gotten injured last year, and Haytham's heart ached with the knowledge that Connor had been - confused or not - willing to throw himself in harm's way to protect the Templar. Haytham kissed and carressed him; his hands exploring, too; teasing his chest, playing with the harness, and eventually wandering down further. He slipped his clever fingers beneath the other’s boxers and curled them around Connor’s cock; giving him languid and knowing strokes.

“C’mon…”, Connor brought out breathlessly. A whine of impatience left him, and he grinded backwards against his father’s cock wantonly. “I’ve waited for so long – I’ve been good, Daddy…”

Haytham snorted quietly; still not entirely sure this particular appellation was appropriate. But, then again, nothing of this relationship was entirely appropriate. “Very well.”, he muttered darkly; pulling away just enough to pull down Connor’s boxers properly, and getting rid of his own as well.

As he bared himself, Connor glanced around, and Haytham enjoyed the appreciative stare he got. He rolled on a condom that had waited prominently on Connor’s nightstand, along with some lube. Haytham knew that the other had prepared himself – the picture Connor had sent him earlier had left no doubt. Still, the Grand Master slicked his fingers first, and enjoyed the gasp he got from Connor as he slid two fingers inside of him. They went in smoothly, and so did a third. “You prepare yourself well.”, Haytham praised mildly; thrusting his clever fingers inside of the other’s body knowingly.

Connor jolted; biting his lips as he spread his legs a little more. “Please…”, he huffed, and Haytham shook his head in amusement and delight. Even after all these months, he felt needy and impatient; both of them did. So the Grand Master shifted closer; pulling his fingers from his son’s body, and aligning himself with Connor’s entrance without further foreplay. A groan escaped his throat as he slowly entered the younger man, and his cock was almost sucked into the hot tightness of Connor’s body.

The young man whimpered; fingers curled into the fabric beneath him; head pressing into the pillow.

“Ah, now, boy, your body should know the shape of my cock…”, Haytham teased breathlessly as he slid inside of him further. One of Connor’s birthday presents had been a cast of Haytham’s cock – made into a toy professionally. And Haytham had watched the other use it – fantasizing about them being together already. That had been _months_ ago.

Connor groaned; his hips shaking. “F-feels different…”, he gasped.

“How so?"

“S-so hot…” Connor moaned lowly. “Feels good… better… You're in control…”

Haytham gave a pleased hum. “You feel incredible, too.”, he praised darkly; leaning over Connor and pressing more kisses to the young man’s neck. One hand gripped the harness tightly and held Connor in place as he started moving. Slowly at first, to give Connor a chance to get used to the feeling, and appreciate his father’s size and girth fully.

“Faster, _please_ –!”, Connor brought out all too soon, and Haytham gladly complied.

Soft cries of pleasure and stimulation were filling the room pleasantly, and Haytham was vaguely glad that no one had their sleeping quarters close-by. The Grand Master had known that the other was rather vocal in his pleasure – a fact that had somehow pleased him, though concerned, too – while Connor was young and no one here would think badly of him (or dare to punish him) for indulging in these desires or masturbate, it certainly would cause some problems if he cried out his father’s name in ecstasy during one of their video chats. So, instead of moaning out the other’s name, Connor had retorted to calling him _Daddy_ almost exclusively during these kinds of video calls, but Haytham wasn’t sure if that made things really… less problematic.

 _“Nh_ , Daddy – h-harder – ha – _ah!”_

Haytham groaned; the grip on the other’s harness tightening as he snapped his hips forward; doing his best to get the angle just right to have the young man jolt in stimulation beneath him. The Grand Master could feel how the other clenched up around him; trying not to come as the older man fucked him harder. The hand that wasn’t gripping the harness was wandering over Connor’s skin knowingly; teasing his sensitive chest by pinching a nipple or brushing over the skin ever so lightly. Every now and then, he would reach down to tease the other’s cock – but only ever to increase his need and pleasure, never to fulfil his desire and make him come.

Before Connor was pushed over the edge, Haytham stopped; still fully seated inside of the other. Panting, he pressed a sloppy kiss to his son’s neck.

“D-don’t stop… I’m so close, _please_ … I wanna… wanna come…”, Connor whimpered; turning his head to look at his father. His expression was nothing but awe-inspiring – his face flushed, saliva glistening on his lips, and tears of pleasure and stimulation shimmering in his pleading dark eyes. His bun had come somewhat undone, and strands of dark hair clung to his sweaty skin.

A crooked smirk flashed over Haytham’s lips, and he gently wiped some saliva from Connor’s chin; pressing a kiss to his son’s temple. “I want to see your face when you come.”, he whispered into the young man’s ear, and could feel the other shiver beneath him.

The young man’s blush darkened. “But – you have.”, he muttered coyly; glancing up at his father through his dark, teary lashes.

“Only on a screen – you know that’s not the same…”, Haytham remarked; slowly pulling out and letting Connor feel every inch of that loss.

Whining in impatience and need, Connor turned around; spreading his legs and showing off his wet arousal and bronze skin shimmering with sweat and precome; beautifully framed by the dark lines of the harness. Haytham drew close again after a brief moment of appreciating the view; leaning over the young man and placing sloppy, rough kisses against Connor’s neck while he pressed against him again and slid inside of him in one smooth motion.

Licking over a nipple and teasing the young man’s sensitive chest, Haytham gripped onto his son’s hips tightly as he picked up the pace again. They were wonderfully entwined now, and Connor seemed to enjoy the possibility this new position had to offer in that he could reach out and touch his father’s body while they became one. His hips met Haytham’s thrusts, and his hands ran over the older man’s skin greedily; brushing along Haytham’s sides in a way Haytham had told him he liked.

The Templar growled in pleasure; bowing his head as he got lost in the intense stimulation of the young man's hot, tight body; too distracted to bestow more nipping kisses onto the other’s skin. He could hear and feel how Connor’s breath was hitching, and he glanced up to meet the other’s gaze when Connor was pushed over the edge: It was an overwhelmingly erotic sight when Connor pressed his head back into the pillow; biting his lips and still unable to supress a rough moan passing his flushed lips as he spilled over his chest and clamped up around his father’s cock. His face was flushed, and his eyes teary - his gaze lustful and still wanton as he hazily watched Haytham come, too.

Haytham was panting heavily; thrusting into the other’s body just a few more times; drinking in the sight before him and then collapsing onto Connor with a pleasured, exhausted grunt.

For a moment, they remained as they were in their hot, sticky embrace. Then Haytham pulled away to get rid of the condom; joining Connor on the bed again and pulling the other into his arms.

The young man hummed; cuddling close. “I wanna do it more…”, Connor muttered; wrapping his arms around his father and leaning his head against the other's shoulder.

Snorting, Haytham brushed his fingers along the other’s shoulder and through his loosened hair. “Give an old, jetlagged man a rest…”, he muttered with amusement; brushing a strand of dark hair out of Connor’s face.

“I could show you the lingerie you bought for me.”, Connor offered seductively; glancing up at Haytham.

“Tempting. But I’d rather enjoy that fully next time. Let's get some rest.”

Connor pouted a little, but then he smiled. “Welcome home.”


	13. It's Always been You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are - the end of the story!
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this one, it's been close to my heart to explore Haytham's more "vulnerable" side and his troubled/tragic past. I could probably write on forever (so, apologies for adding chapter after chapter).
> 
> Take care, and thanks for reading! I appreciate the kudos and comments tremendously ❤︎

Haytham fell asleep surprisingly fast. Even though he was not used to having someone else sleep next to him, he was relaxed and at ease; not remembering any dreams when he awoke hours later from a deep slumber.

It took him a moment to recognize where he was and why he had woken up. There was rain tapping against the windows softly; but it wasn’t what had woken him. It had to be the middle of the night; it was almost pitch black with only a small light visible through the window – a distant lighthouse that Haytham remembered from his youth.

Connor was curled up next to him; only half-covered by the blanket and his face pressed against Haytham’s arm that he was holding onto. He was fast asleep; moving a little and making soft, distressed noises as he dreamed of doubtlessly unpleasant things.

“Connor.”, Haytham muttered; propping himself up and gently shaking the other awake. “Connor. It’s alright – just a dream.”

Connor shuddered; blinking as he woke up and immediately shifting closer to his father. His skin was cool to the touch, and Haytham wrapped the blanket around them tighter; pulling Connor into his arms and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Sorry I woke you…”, Connor mumbled, resting his head against his father’s shoulder and already drifting off again. “Their hands…”

A cold shudder jolted down Haytham’s spine. While Connor’s words were certainly incomplete and spoken half-asleep, Haytham was entirely aware of what the other had to have dreamed about and what had distressed him. How many nights had Connor had nightmares like this, and not called him?

The CEO shifted slightly; an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. He held Connor close as the young man slept, but Haytham couldn’t find sleep again that night. After all, it was _his_ fault that the other was suffering from these memories. It was _his_ responsibility to alleviate that pain – but how could he?

Every now and then, Haytham had half-drifted off, but never managed to fully fall asleep again. He thought about ways to help Connor overcome those painful memories once and for all; to break Birch’s influence on him. When the first light slowly started to illuminate the room, he watched Connor sleep peacefully next to him. Only when it had to be after 6am, Haytham finally shook the other awake.

Connor groaned; burying his face in the crook of his father’s neck.

“Come on, boy. Let’s take a walk before the day gets busy.”, Haytham said gently and disentangled himself from the other’s embrace. Shay had planned several activities for the duration of Haytham’s stay and the Grand Master believed that there was a tour of the facilities on the schedule for today. Breakfast was supposed to start around 9am, so there was enough time for them to take a walk in private and hide the fact that he had slept in Connor’s bed.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes.”, Haytham muttered, placing a kiss to the other’s cheek and then heading off to wash himself briefly and put on some clothes. He smirked as he noticed Connor’s intense gaze as he put on his pyjama again; not displeased by the attention.

Walking arm in arm, they followed the winding path leading eastwards. A light rain was still falling, and the grey sky spoke of October rather than August – but Haytham was familiar with the weather here; the grey West coast in the North of England. He hadn’t missed it, but at the same time, he had never gotten used to New York’s humid, hot summers, and the incessant whirring of the ACs. It wasn’t cold, and for now, they only wore some rain coats and could otherwise enjoy the fresh air, cleansed by the soft summer rain. The path they followed was secured regularly by surveillance cameras, and Haytham knew that there were several men stationed along the perimeter of the estate, too. It was, after all, Shay’s base of operation. And Achilles was out there – doubtlessly fuelled by a different kind of hatred, now that Haytham had not only crippled him and his Brotherhood, but had taken his proxy son away from him. Once more, Haytham tried to shake off the looming feeling of something terrible hanging over them.

Connor stopped, and Haytham was snapped out of his thoughts. He followed the young man’s gaze. There was an opening among the trees, allowing a clear view over a meadow, with the manor in the distance. Beneath this meadow, decades ago, there had been the bunker, with the entrance not far from here. It was inconspicuous now, and Haytham had wondered if one could somehow still enter those dark hallways, or if they were truly, wholly destroyed as he had ordered them to be.

He squeezed Connor’s hand and then wanted to move on, but the young man didn’t budge.

“I need to ask you something.”, Connor said quietly; his gaze still lingering on the peaceful meadow. “Something I didn’t want to ask over… just in a video chat.”

Haytham furrowed his brows; unsure if he liked the direction of the other’s thoughts. If Connor’s question was related to the memories he had glimpsed of down there… it couldn’t be a conversation Haytham was eager to have. But Connor hadn’t asked him a question, and so Haytham remained silent, waiting for whatever Connor needed to talk to him about.

Connor turned toward him; his dark eyes displaying a tormented expression. “What happened down there… What he did… to you. _Had done_ to you…” His gaze dropped as he fought to bring out the words he had clearly gathered in his head but which were slipping through his hands now. “That wasn’t… the only time, right? What I saw wasn’t the only time.”

Staring at his son blankly, Haytham could feel a shiver running down his spine – caused by the cold wind, surely. “Why?”, he asked eventually.

Connor shifted closer; his hands coming up, but then he seemed to remember the surveillance, and instead of embracing the other, he held onto Haytham’s coat – running his fingers over the buttons and then curling them into the fabric as if he needed to hold onto something to get himself steady enough to speak about this. “You know, I was in the original Animus to train for that mission. I thought I knew what it would be like, but I _didn’t._ Being… being inside your memories was _nothing_ like those ancient memories. I felt everything. I could follow your train of thought, somehow. And I also… I remembered things that weren’t happening in that moment. But not… in detail. Sometimes memories would come up as you thought of them, but more than that, I could _feel_ them; I could feel them guide me and influence me and…”

He shuddered and paused, but clearly hadn’t finished yet, so Haytham did not interrupt.

“And in my dreams, I sometimes see things that aren’t what I’ve seen through the Animus. But I know they’re… they happened. Or, I think I know. It’s true, isn’t it?”

With the rain slowly intensifying and drenching them, Haytham stared at him; his stomach turning a little as he grasped the magnitude of Connor’s words. This burden hadn’t been meant for Connor’s shoulders, and even if he didn’t remember all of it, it seemed clear that he was suffering beneath it. Haytham couldn’t help but wonder if Achilles would still have subjected Connor to this had he known the full impact it would have on him – the true price Connor paid. But Achilles had been too convinced to know what Connor would see to anticipate the trauma Connor would be pulled into.

“You already know the answer.”, Haytham said after a moment of silence with only the sounds of the distant ocean, the birds and the rain resonating between them.

Connor nodded mutely. His eyes rested on his hands buried in his father’s coat. He looked lost, and Haytham wished he knew what to say to console him. Birch was dead, and foolishly, perhaps, Haytham had thought he could end the past with that. But the things that had happened were still rippling on in the present; the trauma spilling over into Connor’s heart.

There was one thing he could do to change it. It was one, terrible, thing, and it broke his heart to even think about it. It betrayed what he had promised to Connor; betrayed what he had promised himself. But his heart had always been meant to be broken, and this trauma had always been meant for him, not Connor. It was something he had thought about in the previous night; something he could do to make it stop.

“I can make you forget.”, he said quietly as he pulled the young man into an embrace.

Connor stiffened, pulling away enough to catch his father’s glance in the early light of the morning. “What do you mean?”, he asked; his fingers still curled into Haytham’s coat tightly.

For a moment, Haytham allowed himself to get lost in those expressive dark eyes. They radiated an incredible warmth; but there was hurt, too, and Haytham wished he could take it away. Most of the night, he had thought about this - a way to undo the spilling of trauma into Connor's heart.

“I…”, the Grand Master started, resisting the urge to kiss the other and just follow through with his idea without Connor’s consent. But… that wasn’t how he had sworn to do things. “You know I have a Piece of Eden in my possession.”, he started; letting the words disappear in the cool morning air before he continued to speak. “I can use it on you to make you forget what you experienced in my memories.”

Connor tensed. “What? No.”

“Connor…”, Haytham brushed his fingers along the other’s cheek, and he could feel how the young man leaned into his touch. “This wasn’t meant for you.”

But Connor shook his head; his brows furrowing. Haytham knew this look by now, and he tried not to smile. It was Connor’s frowny face, and he knew he had annoyed the young man. “It wasn’t meant for you either.”, Connor muttered after a moment.

“Well...”, Haytham started; unable to shake off the feeling that at least some of it he had deserved. For failing his loved ones; for not being good enough to protect them; his father, Jenny, Jim, Ziio… even Connor, who had been used against his father and now suffered from memories that Haytham had allowed to spill over. If he had shot himself before Connor had experienced any of it, the young man would be fine now.

Pulling away entirely, Connor crossed his arms and stared at his father; perhaps sensing the other’s disagreement or guardedness. “Didn’t you say I should make my own decisions? And not have people mess with my head for once?”

With a heavy sigh leaving his lips, Haytham buried his hands in the pockets of his coat and defied the urge to reach out. Clenching his jaw, he looked down on the worn-out path; missing the other’s warm skin beneath his fingertips. “That’s not – I’m not – You should know that you can _trust_ me. I would only take those memories, not influence you in your decisions.”

Connor scoffed. “Bullshit. Do you even hear yourself? Taking these memories _does_ influence my decisions – it influences _everything_ – and you should know that!”

Haytham glanced up and met the other’s gaze; trying not to be irritated at Connor failing to understand that he was trying to help. “They _shouldn’t_ influence – they shouldn’t be the reason for anything.”, Haytham snapped with impatience. “Either you trust me or you _don’t._ Either you judge me on my _actions_ or you don’t – not some decades old memories that aren’t even yours to begin with –”

An angry gleam flashed through Connor’s eyes. “They _are_ mine, now, too!”

“They shouldn’t be! They shouldn’t have any power over your decisions! I never _wanted_ you to carry them in the first place!”

Connor took another step backwards; his expression as if Haytham had slapped him. “So – _what?_ You think you can just fuck with my head and take them away again as if it didn’t happen? You wanna go back to how things were, yeah?”

“That’s not – you’re twisting my words, Connor.”, the Grand Master muttered with impatience; irritated that the young man didn’t seem to _get_ it. This wasn’t an act of interference - it was, for heaven’s sake, an offer to take responsibility.

“You wanna control me so bad, is that it? You wanna choose what I remember, as it pleases you? What’s next – you’re gonna erase my memory when we have a fight or when I decide not to join your Order?”

“What!” Haytham scoffed. “What the bloody hell are you talking about? Don’t be so dramatic. If you would only –”

 _“Dramatic?”_ The younger man scowled. “If you don’t think that controlling me with a Piece of Eden _isn’t_ dramatic, then fuck you.” With that, he turned around and started walking back towards the manor.

“Connor, wait –” Haytham reached out to keep the other from walking away, but the young man shook his father's hand off; glaring back at him.

“Don’t! How can you say shit like this! You’re just like –” He seemed to bite his tongue before he had finished that sentence; turning around and hurrying off.

Haytham stared after him; the unfinished sentence hanging in the air painfully – leaving too much room for that voice inside of Haytham’s head telling him that this had been bound to happen.

After a while of standing in the drizzling rain, Haytham moved on – but not back to the manor. Instead, he followed the path and eventually found the small tree amongst the old ones. He stared down at the plaque; remembering his birthday and being unable to deny his feelings for the young man any longer. Sighing, he bowed his head.

“Hello, Jim…”

Of course, James wasn’t buried here. And more than that, Haytham hoped that James had at least in death left this terrible place behind.

 _Welcome home,_ Connor’s voice echoed in his mind, and he shook his head. No. This wasn’t home – this had _never_ been home. It wasn’t now – it was Shay’s home, and perhaps Connor’s, too, but not his. He would never feel at ease here; never be able to shed this gazing past the renovations and into the past that these walls and grounds had witnessed. No matter how much time passed, the feeling of terror never really left when he was here. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come – perhaps his and Connor’s relationship had only worked because they weren’t really around one another. He had probably been foolish; to assume that they could be… together in this way; despite their familial relation; their age difference and different upbringings. It had been naïve – but… at the same time, it had been a crazy sort of hope and happiness. He had enjoyed these past months; and his affections for Connor had not wavered, not even now.

Haytham stood there in the rain for a while; knowing that he should head back to avoid getting a cold, and avoid worrying Shay, who was probably waiting to start the tour he had planned. But the Grand Master was caught in a dense web of memories and emotions; a rare preoccupation of past, present and future – worrying he would never be able to let go of those memories, and instead, hurting more and more people. He had pulled James into the vortex of abuse, and now Connor, too, in a way. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked for permission – Connor wouldn’t miss those memories; wouldn’t know what he had forgotten.

He wished he could talk to James – even in a monologue addressed to him, but there were no words coming over his lips. He was good at his work; he should have listened to Birch – he was good at one thing; one thing only. One purpose. His love had always brought demise, one way or another.

Hesitant steps approached him, and Haytham glanced up. Connor came closer; holding an umbrella above him and stepping close enough to shield his father from the rain, too. For a moment, they stood in silence. Haytham listened to the soft sounds of drops bouncing off the umbrella, and the rain rushing in the dense trees around them; mingling with the distant sound of the ocean waves crashing against the cliffs. He couldn’t help but look down upon the plaque reminding him of what he had lost – what he had caused.

“I’m sorry.”, Connor muttered after a while, and Haytham glanced up at him. The young man’s expression was illegible – his gaze resting on the small tree in front of them, too. “I ran into Shay on my way back to the house.” He sighed. “He told me to take a deep breath and think about why I’m really upset. He’s so good, you know. Good at knowing what I need to hear, I guess. I didn’t even tell him what was wrong or why I was upset with you, but he still…” Connor fell silent; fidgeting with the handle of the umbrella as his gaze dropped.

“I… didn’t mean it. What I said last – I didn’t mean it. I know -”

“It’s alright, boy.”, Haytham interrupted; not needing to hear an apology and vaguely uncomfortable with Connor apologizing to him.

“No – no. It wasn’t. Sorry. I’m just – I guess I’m upset that… What if I forget us? What if I attack you?”

Surprised at the other’s reasoning; Haytham was briefly stunned by the younger man’s worry. “I…”, he started. “I wouldn’t let it come to that.” He reached out; taking the young man’s hand that wasn’t holding the umbrella. “Let me try, Connor. After all, it’s my fault that –”

Connor interrupted him; his gaze snapping up again with some irritation rather than surprise visible in his dark eyes. “How is _any_ of this your fault?”

Haytham looked at him with some confusion. “It’s _my_ memories that are weighing you down –”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that? Did you sign up to have me rummage around in your head? Did you volunteer to get kidnapped, drugged and tied to an Animus for days on end? Who drugged you in the first place?” Connor bowed his head. “If anything, it’s my own fault. I should have known better, but…”

Haytham let out a half-laugh and sigh. “It’s not your fault, Connor.”, he said; pulling the other back into his arms; sighing again. “Listen, just… let me try…”

“No.”, the young man muttered stubbornly; face nestled into the crook up his father’s neck; his breath waving warmly over Haytham’s damp skin.

“Why not? I promise, I won’t… mess with your head. I do not have the intention of trying to control you. We can ask Shay to assist; you know he would never allow you to be subjected by anyone. If that makes it easier.”

“That’s not it.”, Connor muttered; shifting as close as was practical with holding the umbrella. He squeezed Haytham’s hand and sighed.

Haytham brushed his fingers over the other’s back; waiting for the young man to explain.

“I don’t want to forget.”

“What are you talking about?”

Connor sighed. “Well, if you give the Piece of Eden to me – would you want me to erase your memories of what happened?”

“That’s different. These are _my_ memories –”

“But that’s where you’re wrong.” Connor pulled away enough to look at his father again; gesturing at the small tree next to them. “They’re not. They never were, not exclusively. Jim – they’re _his_ memories, too. But he’s not here to share that burden with anyone. You’re the one carrying on his memory. And now I do, too. I think about him a lot; how he… who he was. You would’ve never told me any of these things, and while I understand, I’m… I’m glad I got to know all this about you. I wish you didn’t have to go through what you have, but at least you’re not alone with it anymore. If you make me forget all of these things – the only thing you’ll achieve is that you’re alone again. Forgetting the bad stuff – that’ll take away all the good things, too, and I’m not willing to give that up.”

It was an entirely unusual monologue for Connor, and Haytham was stunned by the other’s affectionate, considerate, thoughtful and so very comforting words. He didn’t know what to say; certainly never having thought about it like that. Could he really be so selfish, and allow Connor to carry this burden, just to ease his own? “Connor, I…”, he started, but Connor shook his head and silenced him.

“No. We’re in this together now. Just because you could manipulate my memories doesn’t change the past. And I’ve only _glimpsed_ what you have survived for so many years – you don’t want my pity, and neither do I want yours. I’d rather remember it all and be with you, than let go of you.”

Haytham’s heart clenched at that, and he sighed. “I don’t… I cannot allow these memories to spill into the present; to give him power –”

“You don’t.”, Connor interrupted him with vehemence; pulling away a little. “I love you.” His gaze was intense, and he held onto Haytham’s hand tightly. “You know – when I was… In the basement, when I tried to… when I was drunk and wanted to sleep with you – I never really explained what I was after, did I? It wasn’t just… because of what I felt in your memories.” A blush burned on his cheeks; vaguely embarrassed, clearly, to remember how he had experienced having sex with Shay. He cleared his throat. “It was how Shay looked – I mean, how he felt. How he _looked_ that he _felt_ like. I wanted to feel like that. I fantasized about feeling like that – having your attention like that; your… care. You making me feel like that…”

He took another shaky breath; his cheeks burning still. “It’s never been about what _other_ people did in your memories that affected me. It’s not Birch’s actions that define these memories for me. Not his power. It’s always been you.” His eyes locked with his father’s. “Seeing how _you_ acted; how you survived, how you loved despite this terror – how you fought and resisted and…” His voice gave out and only after a long moment, he continued speaking; perhaps only to fill to silence. “I don’t want to forget that. Any of it. It doesn’t make any of the memories good or what happened somehow alright, but neither of us needs to have these nightmares alone. And we defy the bastard every day by being happy together.”

Too overwhelmed to comment on any of that, Haytham let the umbrella tumble down as he pulled Connor into a proper embrace; damned be the rain soaking them. He understood now - home. _Welcome home_ hadn't been about Kenway Manor. It had been Connor's embrace; a defiance of the terror that had followed him for such a long time.


End file.
